


There's Always Someone Stronger

by FlybyStardancer, gatekat



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M, Slavery, Sticky Sex, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-21 12:36:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 50,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/597839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlybyStardancer/pseuds/FlybyStardancer, https://archiveofourown.org/users/gatekat/pseuds/gatekat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Continuity Mashup.<br/>Ultra Magnus (based on RiD) has the protection of Nova Prime to avoid deactivation for his insubordination, but what he faces is the ultimate breaker of mecha in the army: General Dai Atlas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meeting His Master

Axe moaned shamelessly in anticipation as his bonded mate and General slammed him onto their berth with lust thick in Dai Atlas' field and through their bond. He would _never_ tire of feeling how strong his mate could be.

The black and gold mech raked his hands down the larger mech's back, fingertips scraping over the sensors in wide white wings. Blue optics lifted to meet red. Another moan escaped his vocalizer as Axe's valve cover opened almost of its own accord, lubricants already oozing around the platelets. He shuddered when that long, thick spike he loved so much drove into him without hesitation.

Dai Atlas claimed his mate's mouth as fiercely as he did his valve and caught black hands to pin them by Axe's shoulders. ~Mine,~ he growled, thick with desire and affection that few others knew he was capable of.

~And no one else's,~ Axe purred in reply, returning the kiss with equal heat. His hips rolled up into Dai Atlas', one gold-trimmed leg coming up to hook around the blue mech's hips. ~Take me.~

~Anytime, anywhere,~ the giant groaned, breaking the kiss to bite down on several neck cables as their interface arrays crashed together. ~Love how tight you always are, no matter how often I spread you wide.~

~Love to feel your spike in me, spreading me wide,~ Axe moaned in response, helm tilting back to give his mate better access to his throat cables. Black hands flexed on air, wanting to touch blue armor, slide under the heavy plating to stroke and tease what lay underneath. Sparks leaped in all directions as he ground his hips against Dai Atlas', his other leg coming up over his larger mate's hip.

While their private, hard-walled quarters and washrack were technically a perk of their rank and status in the army, it was also a relief to many of their troops and the natives they were in the process of conquering. It kept the growling, clanging and eventual roars down to a manageable level as the mated pair took every opportunity to indulge in each other.

A low, rumbling grunt against Axe's throat was the first warning that his mate was nearing his climax, it was the first jolt of electricity from that spike into his valve lining that really demanded his attention.

A throaty moan tore itself loose from Axe's vocalizer. He shifted under his mate's larger frame, hips pressing into every thrust of spike into valve. Charge was building, about to break over both mechs. Their vents flared wide open, pumping hot air into the moist atmosphere as Dai Atlas' thrusts slowed to a grinding roll of his hips.

Powerful white hands tightened around black wrists as cables tightened in both their frames. Metal squealed against metal, striking sparks as Axe pressed his hips into Dai Atlas', his back arching to press his chestplates against his mate's. Blue optics flared white, staring unseeingly at the ceiling as charge crackled across ebony armor.

Above him his mate roared, rattling the walls of their quarters when the tightening of Axe's valve around his spike proved too much to resist. A final driving grind pressed the tip of his spike against the node cluster at the back of the valve before a torrent of hot, thick, charge rich transfluid erupted against the specialized sensors.

The black and gold mech's whole frame stiffened as overload crashed over him, his bellow answering Dai Atlas'. Excess charge arced over his plating, leaping off onto the large blue triple changer. It was a long klik before his frame finally unlocked, easing back down onto the berth, panting heavily to try and cool his systems. His mate was just beginning to quiver with the end of his overload when Axe was coherent enough to notice and give a soft kiss to his mate's crown spar.

"There are orns I miss spending a couple joors working up to that," Dai Atlas murmured absently as his frame relaxed. "Can't spare it here though."

"I find being pinned down and thoroughly claimed is every bit as enjoyable as having you tease me for a joor until I'm begging you to spike me," Axe replied, a teasing note in his voice. Dark fingers wiggled, the black mech tugging lightly at his pinned arms, wanting to touch his bonded. One leg unhooked from the larger mech's hips, stretching out until Axe's pede rubbed lightly against Dai Atlas' shin.

"Mmm, there is a certain appeal to the rough and tumble urgency," Dai Atlas chuckled and let his mate's wrist go before leaning down for a kiss. "Unfortunately, we'll have to clean up with no real fun in the shower to meet my new project."

That got a groan from the smaller triple changer as he returned the kiss. "Buzz kill," he grumbled, running one hand along Dai Atlas' broad back, between the limp, partly folded wings. His mate laughed into a purr.

"Yes, but that is part of my function's description," he claimed another kiss before reluctantly pulling away "Just as yours, as the General's SIC and mate, is to keep me from getting too serious for too long."

Axe muttered something under his ventilations, reluctantly peeling himself off the berth and following his larger mate to their private washracks. Blue optics wandered down the wide expanses of folded wings to Dai Atlas' aft, remaining there until a reminder that they didn't have time for anything else came through the bond.

"At least _this_ extra duty won't decrease our interfacing time much," Dai Atlas smiled over his shoulder and twitched his wings at his mate before turning on the solvent shower. "Have you read up on his record?"

"Enough to tell he's going to be a handful until you get him properly tamed." Axe ruffled his armor, stepped under the spray, turned off his optics and let the solvents run over his faceplates and down his frame.

"That he will be," Dai Atlas agreed. "Though I didn't see anything that will make him _different_ from the average too well connected, temperamental, under-trained brat they usually stick me with," he huffed. "Always mecha that should just be wiped and _trained_ but someone wants them to remember."

Axe shrugged. "Some attempt to drive home the point? Who the frag knows for sure." He reached for one of the brushes, eying the streaks of black he'd left here and there on his mate's frame.

Dai Atlas chuckled and turned, spreading himself easily for his mate's attention. "Quite possibly. I just hope this one has a better attitude than that last nightmare they sent me. I _really_ couldn't stand dealing with another brilliant logic-bound self-superior mech so soon."

The black mech shuddered at the reminder, his armor rattling, then reached up to lightly rap his knuckles against his mate's helm. "Don't jinx us. Please. If we end up with another mech like that last one, _I_ might shoot him and to the Pit with the consequences." Shuddering again, he applied the brush to the closest black streak, working the brush in circles to loosen the stubborn paint.

"Yes, Turmoil was well designated," Dai Atlas groaned in pleasure. "This one doesn't sound manipulative or terribly bright, just powerful and arrogant."

"The kind who needs to be brought to heel properly before they'll actually put that strength to something vaguely useful. Much better than a genius-level manipulator." Axe concentrated on the black mark, teasingly running the brush over a sensitive spot as he moved on to the next. A shiver and groan greeted his efforts as a ping came in telling them the supply ship had arrived and the captain wished to speak with them before turning over their property.

Moving quickly, Axe got the rest of the black streaks off Dai Atlas' plating. Circling his larger mate, he looked for anything he'd missed before quickly getting the odd streak of blue or red off his own plating. "See anything I might have missed?" he asked his mate, turning his attention to the lubricant and transfluid streaking his thighs.

"Here," Dai Atlas rumbled and knelt to polish the back of his mate's thighs to black. "Sometimes I wonder how you manage to be that flexible," he teased with a lick to the spot he'd just cleaned. "I swear your struts must be made of rubber sometimes."

"It surprises me sometimes, too." Axe purred, leaning forward to teasingly nibble at the very tip of the central spire of Dai Atlas' crest.

"Mmm, you're going to make us late," he groaned, his hand tightening around the brush until it screeched in protest.

"You started it," Axe retorted, giving his larger mate a perfectly innocent look.

"I licked your _thigh_ ," Dai Atlas shuddered, his spike pressing against its cover. "You _nibbled_ my _crown_."

Axe grinned at him. "And you can get me back for it later, love." The brush in his hand darted out to flick over blue plating. ~I can still see transfluid on your plating, beloved.~

~Why don't you lick me clean, so I'm wound up until I can drive you into the wall in front of our new pet project?~ Dai Atlas rumbled hotly, pure lust swirling through the bond. ~Never get enough of you.~

The black mech chuckled. ~And make us later than we already are?~ He nudged at his larger mate until Dai Atlas got to his pedes, then dropped to his knees, grasping his mate's hips, and leaned in to lap at the silvery fluid streaking Dai Atlas' plating.

~We must be presentable when we take charge of our project,~ Dai Atlas moaned shamelessly. ~Transfluid streaked legs does not make a proper first impression.~

~Our new project is going to be seeing a lot of it in the future,~ Axe pointed out with a purring chuckle, his glossa probing teasingly at Dai Atlas' spike housing.

~Yes he will,~ the giant groaned deeply and released his spike. He knew his mate could get him off readily enough like this. It _looked_ as good as it felt, exceeded only by having Axe bound and splayed out for his leisurely and intimate enjoyment.

Purring throatily, Axe lapped at the tip of his mate's spike, blue gaze flicking up to meet deep red before shifting forward, taking the length into his mouth. Dark fingers hooked into Dai Atlas' hip joints as Axe's glossa and intake worked the larger mech's spike with the skill of long practice.

"Oh yes," Dai Atlas moaned deeply, his optics locked on the enticing vision of his spike disappearing into his mate's mouth.

~You taste so good,~ the black and gold mech purred through the bond. ~Can never get enough.~ He slowly pulled back, pressing his lips against the tip of Dai Atlas' spike before taking the whole length again. He felt the shudder and intense flare of arousal through his mate's field at the sight even more than the sensation.

~Primus I love you, everything you do,~ Dai Atlas worked to hold his frame still and give his mate full control of this pleasure for as long as he could manage.

~And I love you,~ was the purred response as Axe lavished attention on every inch of that spike, from tip to base. His glossa traced the swirls of color along its length, probing at the very tip, before his mouth again engulfed the entire length, his intake working and flexing around the tip. He reveled in the intensity of his mate's reaction, the power Dai Atlas gave to him in that unbridled enjoyment of sight and touch.

Powerful white hands closed on Axe's strong shoulders, helping Dai atlas support himself through the waves of pleasure that crashed into his neural net. He stroked his fingers against wiring and plating where he could, but there was little he could do but hold on and enjoy the ride.

After this long as Dai Atlas' bonded mate, Axe knew every trick there was to getting the bigger triple changer all wound up. Nimble fingers slipped into Dai Atlas' hip joints, stroking and teasing the circuits and the hydraulics and gyros. ~Overload for me, love,~ Axe cooed.

A single tremor ran down that giant frame before Dai Atlas gave in with a roar, his frame curling forward as one hand remained braced on his mate's shoulder while the other cupped the back of Axe's helm to drive his spike as deeply as it would go and press wonderfully seductive lip plates massaged the spike housing.

Axe upped the intensity of his purr, his lips vibrating against the spike housing, intake and mouth vibrating against the sensitive length of the larger mech's spike. Dark fingers caught in sensitive circuitry, tugging very gently, sending fresh darts of sensation through Dai Atlas' sensor net as hot, thick transfluid tingled and zapped down his intake. He continued to suck, lick and purr long after the flow of transfluid ended, knowing his mate was quite capable of a third round.

~Primus, love, what you do to me,~ Dai Atlas shuddered and moaned, his hips rocking slightly in encouragement.

A blue optic flickered in a sly wink. ~You know you love it,~ the black and gold mech crooned. His glossa flirted with the underside of Dai Atlas' spike. One hand slid down a powerful leg to slip into the knee joint. His intake rippled against the sensitive tip. Mischief flickered and danced along their bond. ~I'm going to make sure that you'll be walking funny when we go to pick up our new project.~

~Love it, hate it, drives me crazy,~ Dai Atlas panted and whined as he tried to straighten himself a bit, only to give up at the tweak Axe gave his inner knee.

Axe's chuckle dripped mischief. ~But you can't resist it, love. You're as addicted to it as I am.~ He wiggled his fingers deeper into the joint, teasing at the delicate gyros as his mate gasped and trembled above him.

~Even more,~ he admitted without shame. ~Need you. Will always need you.~

The black and gold mech drew his glossa slowly, teasingly, along the underside of Dai Atlas' spike from base to tip. ~And I, you, beloved,~ he murmured, his spark flush with the intensity of the mutual emotion. He knew for his mate it was a much more literal statement. Dai Atlas really did require a bonded mate to balance the darkness and pain his gift inflicted on him. It was a duty that Axe welcomed and found intense joy in, even though he had never witnessed the gift in full bloom.

He purred and hummed, reveling in the pleasure pouring off his mate as he pushed already oversensitized systems into a third overload in as many breems. There was the rush from his mate, shaking and unsteady, with nearly his full weight supported by a hand on Axe's shoulder, unsteady pedes and Axe's grip on him.

~Got to stop now,~ Dai Atlas gasped across the bond. ~Prowl....~

~Wouldn't see anything he's not expecting even if he actually came in to check on us,~ Axe chuckled but gently allowed his mate's spike to slide from between his lip plates as it retracted into its housing, and then behind the cover. ~Your new aide-de-camp is not nearly as innocent as his age and manner suggests.~

~I am well aware of that,~ Dai Atlas snorted as he struggled to steady himself. ~I can't fathom what problem Longreach or Skyshredder had with him.~

~Lack of apparent personality,~ Axe snickered as he stood and gave his lover a good look over to check for anything that ADC Prowl would insist on fixing before they were seen. After running afoul of that once, neither particularly cared to receive the _look_ the Praxian build could muster again.

~But not will. He'll make an amazing officer when he's learned to be more social,~ Dai Atlas hummed as he found enough balance to feel up for facing both his aide-de-camp and said aide-de-camp's pre-orn report on the way to his new slave/reform project.

* * *

Ultra Magnus scowled as he stood in the cramped cage. In addition to the tight condition, he was also suffering the humiliation of having his arms and legs bound, and an inhibitor on his engine. Even worse was the code that had been installed -- slave code. He growled at the thought of it.

Just because others were being stupid fraggers, he was sentenced to being a slave. If those idiots he had been assigned with had done what they were supposed to instead of talking scrap to him, he wouldn't have had to beat some sense into them. Instead he was here. His former unit-mates better hope they were never assigned with him again.

He felt the change in engine power, signaling that the craft was coming in for a landing -- fragging finally! It was a couple breems before a pair of crewmembers came to collect him. They were greeted with a string of curses in several dialects, not all from Cybertron.

"Stand still," the one with the heavy weapon ordered, standing further back than his companion.

"Or what, you'll shoot me? Slagging sonuvacompactor!" The imprisoned mech growled out, throwing a heated glare at the mech. Yet he stood still, or at least his pedes didn't move. Not like they could. The cage was barely two long paces by one, and only tall enough for him to stand fully upright without scraping, which was good, since it had neither padding to lie on or a bench to sit on. He'd even had to recharge vertically, leaning against the bars.

"Yes," the guard answered coldly as the other stepped forward to unlock the cage door, then back up out of reach. "Walk out. We're finally going to be rid of you."

A ping made the one drawing his weapon pause, then grimace before he responded. "He wants the cage. Let the grunts unloading do it."

The other guard nodded and motioned Ultra Magnus towards the door. "Move it, non-person."

The large mech growled, but complied for the moment. He wanted out of the cage, and out of the ship. He'd work on getting free once he saw who he was up against. He'd been around and with enough rank to know all the mecha that usually got those labeled troublemakers.

The walk out the cargo bay doors was a short, quiet one as the general brightness outside came into focus. An organic world. A first stage base of operations. Military mecha moving about quickly and efficiently under the direction of a tiny creature of light armor and vulnerable wings. The storm-gray mecha glanced at him with ice blue optics, displaying the bright crimson chevron and confirming it was a Praxian.

"The Generals are there," the mech pointed to a black and gold mech about Ultra Magnus' size and a significantly larger one of light blue, white and black with a three spar crown and long wings flared out fully.

Axe and Dai Atlas.

Ultra Magnus knew their reputations well, though he'd never been assigned to one of their units.

He scowled. So they thought the Great General could tame _him_? Ultra Magnus didn't think so.

Dai Atlas looked back calmly and stepped forward to walk around his new property/assignment, taking in everything and judging the much younger mech. He stopped in front of Ultra Magnus, his mate once more at his side. "You will answer to Saltem. It is your designation until you _earn_ your former one back."

"And if I don't?" the newly-redesignated mech growled back, the fire of defiance in his electric blue optics.

"First, the slave code you have installed will cause you pain in an increasing amplitude until you comply or it shuts you down from sensory overload. If that is not a sufficient motivator, I will find what punishments do penetrate your processors. Or I will deactivate you," Dai Atlas informed him coolly. "Are we clear?"

Saltem's optics narrowed. "Crystal," he managed to grate out, though it was just as clear that he was not actually accepting of the new name.

"That is Prowl," he motioned to the storm gray Praxian directing the unloading of the cargo. "My aid-de-camp. You will obey his orders as if they came from me. Do you understand?"

Saltem growled, his first test of the limits of the slave programming. He did not want any more mechs to have power over him. "Fine," he replied as the first licks of pain ran through him.

"My mate and SIC, Axe, also has the right to command you to anything I can," Dai Atlas continued. " Do you understand?"

Saltem resisted longer this time before giving in with ill grace. "Understood."

"For now your status as my property will protect you from others," Dai Atlas told him. "That can change if you cross me. Until further notice, you may not leave my quarters unless one of the three of us is with you, or the room is in imminent danger of being destroyed. If you must flee, you will report to the acting CO of the base as soon as the battle is over. Follow us," he ordered before turning to walk back into the officer's barracks, one of only two hard targets on the base.

Saltem growled invective as he followed, not bothering to resist that particular order. He was biding his time. It wouldn't do to wear down his own resolve before he needed it for a larger battle. 

This base was a simple layout, with strong, tall walls but no apparent air defense to speak of. The interior had less attention paid to it with only two permanent buildings. One was where they were headed, the other was likely the command and comm center. Everything else was temporary buildings, some even tents or just marked out open space.

He'd been in places like this before. Over the next few vorns it would be built up into a permanent base, the center for the planetary conquest and in time the primary spaceport for exporting resources to more civilized areas of the empire.

The door to the senior officer's barracks opened at Dai Atlas' ping and they entered a space that was warmed just enough over the atmosphere that Saltem realized it was on the chilly side out there.

~We've got our work cut out for us with this one,~ Axe noted, falling into step beside his mate. One helm spike twitched slightly. ~Arrogant and with an attitude.~

~And the power to justify it under most conditions,~ Dai Atlas added. ~The key is going to be finding out what will make him feel whole, what he wants more than his pride.~

~Not going to be easy. But then, none of the troublemakers we've been given have been anything but difficult.~ Black plating ruffled, shifting the wicked battleaxe the black mech was carrying across his back.

~That's why _we_ get them,~ Dai Atlas chuckled at his mate and palmed their quarters open. ~After the work that went into getting my processors in order, they know I can take anyone, and I'm not afraid to deactivate if that's the right choice.~

The space was simple, too simple, for a powerful General, but the pair were relaxed here with nothing more than a berth large enough for both their giant frames to spread out, two simple but functional desks pushed front to front so the pair faced each other when working, a couple chairs to relax in, a small shelf of odds and ends and their weapons locker. A washrack just large enough for the pair of them opened from one side.

It was the quarters for a freshly sparked lieutenant, if that, yet these two Generals seemed to have no issue with living here.

Narrowed optics took in this room where he would be spending a lot of time in the foreseeable future. Whatever Dai Atlas had planned...wasn't going to work. He wouldn't _let_ it work.

"Every perk, right and cube you get, you will _earn_ , just as every mecha here does," Dai Atlas turned to face his slave with hard, deep red optics. "We do not have the supplies or personnel to indulge in freeloaders. Your first task will be to keep our quarters in presentation condition. When you are not cleaning, you will be in your cage once it is delivered. For now, sit." He pointed to a corner opposite the door.

Saltem's head snapped towards the General when he began to speak. "That's a drone's work!" he growled in protest. He did move to the corner, however.

"That is all you are worth at the moment," Dai Atlas' voice was hard. "A very expensive to maintain drone. I recommend that you prove you can do simple work or you will not be worth the energon you consume."

The enslaved mech growled, but did not otherwise reply. It was as close to acceptance as Dai Atlas would get at this point and they all recognized it.


	2. A Night Alone with Master

Saltem huffed as he leaned against the back of his cage.

Two orns. He had been here two orns, trapped in this room, with nothing else to do but clean. And he had cleaned it--he'd cleaned spaces before as punishment and there was nothing to it. And this room was easy, the size and simplicity seeing to that. He didn't know what the General hoped to accomplish with the task, but it wasn't working.

It had also been a quiet two orns. Dai Atlas and Axe spent most of the orn outside, likely attending to duties, leaving Saltem to his own devices. When they were in the room they tended to be focused on each other, often intimate with no concern that they were being watched. With nothing to focus his anger on, Saltem had settled into a low, simmering sulk. All the indignation and self-righteousness was being bottled up, compressed, ready to explode with limited provocation.

He glanced up when the door slid open and noted Dai Atlas had returned alone, but with two cubes of energon. One the imported high grade that senior officers had a small metacycle allotment of, the other a regular cube, but it was of far better quality than the drudge he'd been surviving on since the trial.

"Bored out of your processors?" Dai Atlas asked with an odd tone of amusement as he sat down in his favored chair to relax in.

Saltem gave him a Look, but did not reply. It was an obvious question with an obvious answer.

"Good," he relaxed in his chair and motioned to the one across from him that Axe typically resided in, which made it the right size for Saltem. "Sit. It's time we have a chat."

Saltem paused, waiting just long enough to start feeling the first flickers of pain before obeying, sitting in the chair. "What kind of chat?" he asked warily.

"Mostly about your future, and how you ended up here," Dai Atlas said easily as he took a sip of his high grade. "Tell me your side of the incidents and trial."

"I was assigned to a unit of lazy fraggers. We were supposed to be unloading a shipment of weapons for our base. They decided they'd rather talk scrap to me than work. I showed them why that was a bad idea," Saltem growled out, an undercurrent of bitterness in his voice.

Dai Atlas hummed. "Have you ever been assigned to a unit that wasn't full of lazy fraggers?"

Saltem snorted at that. "Rarely. These were the worst I've been with, though."

"Whose units were worth their energon?" Dai Atlas smiled to himself, not letting a trace of his approval show.

Saltem paused at the question, narrowing his optics in suspicion. "Twistout and Reaper."

The General paused as he accessed the military database for Reaper's service record. "Hard line, business is business, socialize and goof off on your own time. Twistout's known for running one of the tightest ships in the army," he didn't hide his genuine approval of the Major he'd had occasion to work with and shared more than a passing agreement on work ethics and duty with. "Depressingly rare characteristics in mecha these vorns."

Saltem remained quiet at that. He was not going to be volunteering extra information to the General.

"Now the records indicate that you mauled six mecha that orn, and it has been a fairly common occurrence since Reaper and the rest of your first unit were deactivated. Are any of the incidents of record ones you contest what happened?" Dai Atlas asked, pinging Saltem the file.

"No," Saltem scowled.

"Anything you would add to the records?" Dai Atlas pressed lightly. "I learned a long time ago that official records are rarely complete."

Saltem waited until he felt the slave programming lick at him before he answered. "If those fraggers wanted to be left alone, they shouldn't have been talkin' scrap to me. I would have ignored them otherwise."

An optic ridge quirked. "Then you've mellowed some from the first incidents. What where they talkin' scrap to you about?"

"Me'n the Prime," Saltem growled.

Dai Atlas' optic ridge went higher. "That's hardly an unusual or shameful way to curry favor. Why does it bother you?"

"It has nothing to do with a mech's military prowess," Saltem spat out.

This time Dai Atlas didn't keep his smile completely to himself, but it also made his expression unmistakable; approval.

"No, it doesn't," the General agreed. "You would have done better in another time, back when military was a choice, something only those dedicated to being warriors did for long. That said, you are stuck in this time." He leaned forward slightly. "But reform slavery for mauling a few solders? Even with your record that's quite a severe punishment. I've known mecha who killed their entire unit and didn't suffer this fate. Why are you?"

"Have you seen Judge Tightrope's record?" Saltem countered with a scowl. "Besides, he'd been having Skylight in his berth."

"I'm familiar with Tightrope," Dai Atlas paused as he cross-referenced who Skylight was. "And that would explain why he did his best to sentence you to a fate worse than reformatting. I suspect you can thank our Prime that you ended up with me."

Saltem didn't reply to that. Enslavement was enslavement.

"What do you know about the terms of your sentence?" Dai Atlas asked smoothly as he relaxed in the chair.

"That I am a slave in the service of a chosen mech, in this case you," Saltem replied, settling into a scowl--the expression was as close to neutral as he had come during his time there.

Dai Atlas gave a longer than usual pause to make sure his new slave was finished, then huffed. "Why am I not surprised you were never briefed on what reform slavery is? Here are the basics. You are my slave until such a time as I deem you reformed enough to reenter service, or I deem you uncontrollable and send you to be reformatted or deactivated at the discretion of the Prime."

"And how often do any of those happen in reality?" Saltem countered. He had never heard of a case.

"Of those sent to me?" Dai Atlas leaned back and sipped his energon. "I haven't failed yet. You're the fourth slave I've been sent. My lesser projects have a similar record. Prowl's one of them. He has a few centuries to go before he's suitable for general assignment, but he's making progress on the creepy omniscience scale."

Saltem snorted. He'd believe it when it happened.

Dai Atlas accepted the doubt. "What do you want for your existence?"

The enslaved mech paused again, clearly not wanting to answer, before the slave programming kicked in and forced the issue. "To work with the Prime to keep order in the Empire."

Dai Atlas hummed thoughtfully. "What are you willing to do to have that existence?"

"What am I _willing_ to do?" Saltem sneered.

"Yes, what are you willing to do to get what you want?" Dai Atlas repeated.

"Unless you have me doing what I'm _meant_ to be doing and am good at, you're going to have a hard time finding _willing_ ," Saltem replied.

"Answer the question, soldier," Dai Atlas rumbled, his tone shifting from conversational to commanding in a flash. "What are you willing to do to get what you want?"

Saltem responded to the change in tone, straightening in his seat. "I am willing to _fight_ ," he snarled. "To show my power and that I _deserve_ to be by the Prime's side."

"You're willing to fight," Dai Atlas scowled. "Not follow orders, not keep your temper in check, not show the _restraint_ required to stand at the Prime's side. No one doubts your abilities on the battlefield. It's your ability to be a productive member of a _unit_ that is in question. If all you want to do is fight, I'll turn you loose to fight on every world I'm sent to. You'll never be more than a pet monster to be pointed in a direction and told to 'go smash' if you can't learn to be better than that."

The younger mech snarled wordlessly at that, the words striking closer to the spark than he was willing to admit.

"Is that enough for you, to be a mindless killing machine to be pointed at an enemy and told to return when they're destroyed?" Dai Atlas pressed.

" _No,_ " Saltem growled.

"Then back in your cage until you figure out what you are willing to do to be more than a killing machine, and can tell me," Dai Atlas pointed to the cage in the corner.


	3. Getting Started

Saltem stayed in his cage as he thought. He stayed awake, even when Dai Atlas had turned off the lights and settled in for recharge.

What was he willing to do? What kind of question was _that_? No one survived a slavery sentence. Yes, technically, some or most were supposed to go back into service as free mechs, but that never actually happened. Was that how Dai Atlas intended to break him, by dangling old dreams in front of him and then taking them away?

But describing him as a mindless killing machine--that had hurt. That was not what he wanted to be. Could Dai Atlas be right? Was his aggression what was holding him back?

There was no way that could be true. There were too many mechs who had been promoted to high rank who simply took what they wanted and no one objected -- that was the way it worked in the military.

So Saltem stayed in the cage and waited until Dai Atlas roused from recharge. Once the General started to sit up, he growled out his own questions. "What do you _want_ from me? What answer do you want?"

Deep red optics focused through the darkness. "I want you to become the officer and commander you are capable of becoming once you are able to cope with your rage. I am looking to find out just how much of _you_ is going to be left when that happens. How much are you willing to do to have what you say you want, and how much will I have to force you to do." The giant stood smoothly and pinged the lights on. "I am quite capable of breaking you completely. I will if that's what it takes to keep my perfect record. It is, however, the least efficient method to teach you how to handle politics. It also tends not to leave a mecha suitable to be an officer either, which would be a shame."

"'Restraint' is hardly a word I would use to describe most of the officers I've encountered," Saltem replied.

Dai Atlas hummed. "I expect few, if any, lash out at those who can cause them political harm. You have quite a history of it, including mauling the lover of a high ranking local military judge. Being an officer or NCO is mostly politics. Knowing how not to step on the pedes of those who can cause you grief."

"What are you looking to have me willing to do?" Saltem asked.

Dai Atlas leaned a hip against his chair. "Control your rage. Understand it and channel it into productive behavior rather than self-destructive behavior. Learn how to be social, as unappealing as it might seem. Learn how to play politics. I want you to be willing to learn how to be a good officer."

"You want me to be _weak_ ," Saltem spat out.

"If that's what you believe I am, then yes," Dai Atlas' optics and tone took on a dangerous, hard edge. It was a look his troops learned very quickly to associate with a great deal of pain about to rain down on someone.

"You're wanting me to fake caring about idiots," Saltem continued, fully aware he was treading on dangerous ground but unwilling to back down.

"That is the price of power," Dai Atlas said calmly, forcing his wings to remain folded down. "Particularly at the lower officer and NCO ranks. If you want the power, you pay the price."

Saltem didn't have a reply to that, standing in his cage.

"Do you wish to be an officer? To have command of more than a handful of other mecha?" Dai Atlas asked.

"Yes." That Saltem was sure of. "I don't want to fake emotions I don't have."

"Then we'll just have to teach you how to care about the opinions of those you'd rather not have any use for," Dai Atlas said as he considered his project. "Or get you over your issue with lying about it."

"Do you have your answer?" Saltem growled out.

"Enough of one," the General decided after a moment. "You may resume your regular duties. You will also clean the public washracks this orn, then use them. Bring yourself up to an acceptable finish."

"Sir," Saltem said, acknowledging the orders.

* * *

Saltem was down on his hands and knees, scrubbing the floor in one corner of the washracks. He couldn't help but think about that morning's conversation as he worked. Dai Atlas was still speaking as if he would eventually release him from servitude. That he was planning on grooming Saltem to be an officer...

It couldn't be true. It was simply too good.

And some of his words had the awful ring of truth that left a bitter taste in his oral chemoreceptors and made the appealing parts all the harder to resist. Never before had an offer been delivered with such bluntness, such unapologetic disregard for what he might or might not find appealing about it. Until now, things that sounded likes bribes to get him to behave were well-crafted to appeal to him, and the downside was ignored or glossed over.

Not so with Dai Atlas.

In its convoluted way, it made the General more believable. So did the fact that even when his mate hadn't been there to entertain him, the giant hadn't even looked at him with intent. On a level he'd fully expected to be dragged to the berth and used when Axe hadn't been with his mate. It didn't make sense. It wasn't as if Dai Atlas was gentle with Axe. He had the smaller mech well-trained to think he enjoyed it, but Dai Atlas was no more gentle with his mate than others had been with Ultra Magnus over the vorns.

Audio and vibration receptors picked up the approach of two mid-sized mecha, combined they wouldn't have reached Saltem's mass. Their steps were easy, their voices low and full of the sub harmonics of desire.

Saltem bit back a groan of annoyance. Working alone in here hadn't been so bad, but he dreaded having to deal with other mechs. Especially mechs talking in _those_ tones.

The pair paused when they entered, noted where he was working and picked the shower on the far end from Saltem. A glance told Saltem the pair were mid-sized grounder scout frames, but with the heavier armor and frames commonly seen out here where speed was less important than endurance over rougher terrain than Cybertron could ever produce. They were also mostly the reddish-brown of the local dirt where it had been caked onto their alt mode frames.

Their chosen showers was turned on, and deep, welcoming groans of the promise of being _clean_ again after a long mission resonated through the room.

Saltem turned back to his own work, determined to ignore them. He would have to go over that area of the washracks again to make sure to get rid of the planetary dirt once they were gone, but he wasn't going to bother them while they were cleaning. They were within their rights to be here, and at least for now they were doing what the washrack was intended for: washing.

A breem past and one shower turned off as they began the more intimate parts of cleaning by helping each other with hard to reach places. Another three breems and the sounds changed from the pleasure of being cleaned to the much more intimate pleasure their tones before walking in had indicated was coming.

Saltem shuddered in distress at the change in the noises they were making. He wanted them to stop, he wanted to leave, he didn't want to be anywhere near them. But he couldn't leave, and there was no rules against using washracks for ... _that_ kind of activity. He could only be grateful, if in a very angry way, that his orders were _very_ clear that there were only four mecha who could use him like that anymore. The Prime was still on Cybertron and the other three had shown no inclination for it. At least not yet.

These two, even if they tried, couldn't force him.

As the sounds of pleasure grew stronger he focused harder on scrubbing just to have something to channel his energy into. It didn't matter how many times it went badly for him, he couldn't do anything about automatic responses to the sound of pleasurable interfacing. Arousal was rising in his systems, the lick of a charge that he had always refused to act on and had no intention of starting now.

He tried to surprises his responses, to bottle them up. He would _not_ be affected by this. He would not look to see what was happening. He was determined to keep his focus on the task at hand. He did not care that his chassis had other plans. He'd ignored his frame's demands in battle, he'd ignore them now.

Another breem and one of the pair began to gasp and moan pleas for more between his lover's growling grunts. It was almost over. The end wouldn't come fast enough for Saltem. It would be a relief when they left the washracks. The pair muffled their final cries with a kiss, but there was no muting the crackle of energy over their frames or the intense ionization of the air mixing with the smell of valve lubricant and expelled transfluid.

Saltem trembled briefly, before forcing his body still and back under his control. He could hear them relax and untangle themselves, then the quick clean-up and a final check that they were presentable once more and the lovers walked out, never bothering to look at the big mech doing wash duty.

He relaxed after they left, letting out a harsh ex-vent. He would leave that corner for last. 

By the time he'd worked over to the freshly soiled corner it had mostly aired out and his systems settled again, much to his relief. It could have been much worse, now that he reflected on it. So much worse.

When he finally stood and turned on a shower to tend to his own washing, he'd been alone for almost half a joor. He grunted as he worked on his own armor. It was filthy--far worse than he would get even on dirty assignments. He hadn't been allowed to clean up since he had been sentenced to slavery. It was a far cry from his normally well-kept appearance.

Still, with no time frame given to return and very clear orders to make himself 'acceptable' in appearance, he could take the joors or more he would need to put himself to rights. _All_ the way to rights.

He continued to relax as he worked on cleaning himself, taking a small measure of comfort in it. The feeling of solvent falling on him, the way his armor and joints moved more freely as dirt and grime were flushed away. It felt good in a way few things in his existence did.

It made him feel like a mech again. Whether it was washing the grime of battle off, the results of having to submit to a stronger mecha, or this filth: it always made him steady and real again.

Time floated gently as he worked, every movement smooth and soothing. He was only barely aware when another mech entered the washracks, cleaned up and finished until the good-sized frontliner stopped only a couple paces away.

"Wash your back?" the new mech asked evenly.

Saltem paused, studying the mech for a moment. There was no hint of desire in the mech's field, or anything else to indicate that he meant for anything to happen but cleaning.

"...Yes," he agreed, wary but willing to risk it.

The other mech, about two thirds Saltem's size and with the bearing of a seasoned warrior, stepped behind him and went to work on nooks and crannies that were hard for any mech to reach for themselves for a good breem in silence.

"You're the General's newest project. Magnus, right?"

He startled slightly when the other mech spoke. "Yes, I was given to him," he replied quietly, surprised that he had used his original name. Dai Atlas certainly hadn't been calling him by it.

"I'm Fortis Bronte. What's he supposed to make out of you?" he continued as he worked.

"He says an officer," Saltem replied, disbelief clear in his voice.

"He's going to try his best then," Fortis Bronte said calmly. "I've been in his division long enough to have seen a few of his project mecha. You've got better odds at officer than Prowl does of acting normal. Mech's seriously creepy."

"Even though I'm a slave?" Saltem couldn't help the bitterness that crept into his tone.

Fortis Bronte shrugged. "The General doesn't keep slaves. Thinks they're a waste of resources all the way around. One way or another, he'll make sure you aren't his property for long."

That... actually fit with what Dai Atlas had said about earning his way.

...But he couldn't bring himself to believe or hope.

The senior warrior paused briefly before going to work on Saltem's aft, his touch carefully neutral. "If you ever want to break a bad mood, or just get on his good side, give him a good fight in the sparring circle. Mech's an old warrior. It tends to settle him. That or a long, hard frag."

With how close Fortis Bronte was, there was no way for him to miss the flash of _pain-humiliation-refusal_ that ran through Saltem's field at the latter suggestion, before he clamped down on the feeling. "I'll keep that in mind. His mate has already demonstrated the second way."

"They've been together longer than most of us have been functioning," Fortis Bronte supplied as he finished and tapped Saltem's shoulder to get him to trade places. "Whatever made you so skittish about interfacing, think real hard on if it's doing you any favors."

Despite the words, there wasn't the least hint in the smaller mech's field to indicate that _he_ wanted to interface right now.

Saltem didn't respond to that, didn't know how to. He did get to work on cleaning the other mech's back as they fell silent once more. This was more comfortable. Something easy to do, a bit of social acceptance without demands, someone who wasn't afraid of him but didn't want to hurt him ... it was a nice breem of work.

"Saltem," Prowl's near monotone voice called for his attention.

Saltem looked up at the call, noting who it was. "Yes?"

The Praxian gave him a calculating look up and down, nodded and turned on heal. "Follow me."

Saltem nodded to Fortis, then followed Prowl. He wondered where the ADC was leading him, but kept quiet for the moment. He saw that they were headed for a large crowd, probably a good half of the base's mecha, and placed it as the sparring circle from the crude map he'd been given. It didn't take much to realize that Dai Atlas was in the center of it all, watching them approach. The General stood helm and shoulders above everyone.

If Prowl was leading him here, then there were likely two reasons. Either Dai Atlas wanted to show him just how powerful he was, or Dai Atlas wanted to him to spar with someone. Either way, he could think of worse ways to spend an afternoon than doing what he'd been sparked to do.

The gathering parted smoothly for them, with a distinct feel of being more inclined to be out of Prowl's way than Saltem's.

"You've said you want to fight," Dai Atlas focused on his slave as Prowl slipped away, back through the crowd and towards the command center. "That it is what you are good at. It's time to prove to me just how good you are. The rules are simple; anything that won't take the other off the battlefield for more than an orn. It ends by unconsciousness or formal surrender. Any questions?"

"Hand to hand?" Saltem asked, just to confirm. Not that he had any weapons on him, anyways, but it would give him an idea how fair his master was going to play.

"Yes," Dai Atlas' wings snapped to their full extension as he settled into a ready crouch. "Your move."

Saltem nodded, relaxing into a crouch himself. He took a moment to study the General, gauging him as an opponent. Then he launched himself at Dai Atlas, as much to test his reaction time as to try to hit.

The giant moved far faster than his frame indicated he would, but not with the lightning reflexes that marked a specialist or one with a gift in it. The reply came with a well-aimed blow designed to crack across Saltem's back and knock him down.

Saltem took the hit, rolling away and to his pedes. He launched himself at the General again, this time better prepared to adjust his trajectory as his opponent moved. The impact was solid; one high speed, high mass object against an even greater mass that resisted for a nanoklik before a giant white hand grabbed Saltem's wrist and Dai Atlas rolled with the rest of the momentum to add his own.

Suddenly Saltem was no longer in control of the motion as the convoy class mech went flying. Saltem grunted as he hit the ground. Dai Atlas was back on his pedes before the younger mech was. This time Saltem circled, considering his next move instead of rushing in.

He read the glint of approval in the cant of his master's wings and deep red optics, or he hoped that was what he was seeing.

Dai Atlas matched his circle, confident in his superior ability. Yet like most of his sparring matches, his ability was not what he was seeking to display. He wanted to know his opponent, learn more about how Saltem fought. How he'd been trained. How he responded. How his processors worked, or didn't work.

Saltem watched him as they circled, considering and calculating. He wanted to see if the General would also attack, or simply respond to what the younger mech did. The answer was less than half a klik in coming in the form of the giant triple changer stepping into the circle they'd created with their movements.

Making little effort to mask his intentions, Dai Atlas aimed a punch for the center of Saltem's mass.

Saltem dodged the strike, grabbing the other mech and redirecting the momentum to try to send him over the grounder's hip and to the ground. Dai Atlas accepted the redirection, rolling with the motion and ending up smoothly on his pedes with the same grace he'd displayed before. It was finally really sinking in that despite his size and apparent mass, Dai Atlas _was_ a flier, with all the built-in maneuverability the frametype required.

The roar of the crowd was largely lost to both combatants, but Saltem didn't doubt that they absolutely relished watching their General fight. Any thought of that was lost when the giant closed again, this time reaching for a grappling hold.

The grounder didn't try to move away, but he did twist so that Dai Atlas didn't get the hold he wanted. Saltem wrestled with the larger mech, each vying for a hold that would allow them to pin the other. Dai Atlas had a huge advantage in height, mass and strength. They both knew it and the giant didn't try to use it to much advantage. They tested the other's strength, balance, skill ... and then Dai Atlas broke away with a smooth twist that Saltem had never contemplated was possible.

When their optics met again, Dai Atlas was grinning, his wings fanned out in excitement at a good challenge. 

Saltem let a smirk quirk his lips as they returned to circling one another.

After another moment, he launched forward again. This time he feinted a blow to Dai Atlas's midsection, but his real target was the wing--those tended to be sensitive and less-well armored. He felt his fist connect and the flash of pain through his opponent's field just before the reverberation of Dai Atlas' bellow rattled his plating.

The giant whirled on him faster than such a large mech should be able to move and drove his fist down on Saltem's hips with the full power he hadn't used before.

Saltem grunted in pain as he felt his armor crack from the blow, and the force of it sent him sprawling in the dirt. He lashed out with his good leg in an attempt to send the giant off-balance before rolling away and to his pedes just in time to miss the follow-up stomp that would have crushed his leg.

Wings still high and wide, optics bright and that grin firmly in place, Dai Atlas lunged forward in an effort to knock his opponent to the ground and pin him. The younger mech threw himself to the side to avoid it, rolling and coming back to his pedes again just in time to see the blow to his helm coming.

It wasn't soon enough to dodge it, however, and the fist larger than his helm impacted his face square on target. The younger mech dropped to the ground, optics dark and systems powering down as he skidded to a stop.

"He's got better control than expected," Axe commented as he walked into the circle, waving to a couple of medics to haul Saltem to the repair bay.

"Yes, he does," Dai Atlas nodded, flexing his wings. "He's got some skills to go with his frame too. Once he lets go of his hate, he'll make one of the finest officers of his generation," he added as they walked to their quarters.

Not far off, a couple of mecha who had been with them for a long time were comparing notes as they collected their winnings.

"That was almost as entertaining as the last time we got to watch the General sparring with the mech who trained him," a large gunmetal-and-black grounder commented finally. "Though that was on a different planet and involved a lot of mud."

A small sand-and-gray airframe scout groaned. "Don't remind me of the mud, please. It took _joors_ to get both of them clean, and that was with a dozen of us drafted into helping."

* * *

Fortis Bronte, the Strong Thunder of General Dai Atlas' ground assault force, watched from a corner as the three junior medics of the unit welded, rewired and undid the damage the General had just done to their newest resident. All in all, Saltem had gotten away lightly. It was a sure sign that the General liked him, or at least his potential and existing training.

That made Fortis Bronte more relieved than he cared to admit. He always took an interest in the new arrivals, at least the warriors. All the ground forces were nominally under his command after all and it paid to know them and for them to know him. This one though ... this one he felt a bit more of a pull towards. The youngster had been through a _lot_ already. It showed in every line of his frame, every atom of his EM field, every line of his conscious coding. It had made a real mess of what should be an aspiring warrior-officer.

It pained the old sergeant to see so much potential wasted. It'd seen that many times as well, though. This one was special. He just wasn't sure why.

He was sure time, patience and a steady hand would tell.

It didn't take long for the medics to finish and bring their patient out of forced stasis. Now it was just the wait for him to come out of recharge on his own, something that happened quickly.

"Any errors?" Fortis Bronte asked from a good couple lengths away as the medics vacated the immediate area. Everyone was familiar with how bad an idea it was to be in arm's reach of a warrior booting from being knocked out in battle.

Cables were tense from remembered alert as optics powered up, but relaxed when the change in location registered.

"None," Saltem answered, looking over at Fortis Bronte, who nodded.

"That was a good standing you did against the General," the older mech smiled slightly with approval in his optics. He stepped forward and offered a hand to help the larger mech up. "You have some good skills."

The warrior stood, grunting in thanks for both the aid and the compliment. "Is what I'm best at."

"How's your energy level?" Fortis Bronte asked as he motioned Saltem to follow.

"10 percent," the larger mech replied, following Fortis Bronte. He didn't have other more pressing orders at the moment. He felt shock ripple through the smaller, mostly brown mech as their path altered slightly. He could feel Fortis Bronte open a comm line, but not pick up on it.

"How long has it been since you've had a proper meal?" Fortis Bronte asked.

"Before I beat the fraggers that I was in a unit with and ended up here," Saltem replied, surprised at Fortis Bronte's shock. While he hated being imprisoned and then enslaved, survival rations were to be expected in those conditions.

"Most of a metacycle then," he murmured as their destination became clear; the mess hall. "Since you're going to be on the fighting rotation soon, start pulling double rations when you can. It's not good to be under 70% if you can help it."

"Normally I wouldn't be," Saltem replied. But things weren't normal now, or at least had become a different normal. He wondered if Dai Atlas had approved the extra rations, and decided he didn't care either way.

"I'm sure," Fortis Bronte nodded, leading Saltem through the simple tent lined with benches and long tables. 

It was fairly full, and Saltem paid attention to the looks he got. Plenty of them were calculating, more than a few showed desire, but it was the general respect that Fortis Bronte received that kept Saltem's attention. The large brown mech must have some rank here.

Three cubes were poured from the dispenser, two of them handed to Saltem. He took them, gratefulness in his field as he followed the elder warrior to a seat at one of the tables. He kept tabs on what looks he got from whom, and noted that no matter what the look was, the aggressive ones seemed to be keeping to themselves out of respect for Fortis Bronte's apparent claim on him by proximity.

It made drinking the energon a lot more pleasant.

"What size of unit are you used to working in, and as what?" Fortis Bronte asked conversationally as he sipped his ration.

Saltem let out a quiet noise of pleasure at his first drink. "They would go between six to ten, depending on circumstances," he replied. "Most of the time I was in the reserves, kept ready to be sent out in case back up was needed out on the front lines."

Surprise registered on in the features and field of the brown mech. "Why in Primus would they waste your talent and power in the reserves?"

Saltem shrugged. "My best guess is that they wanted the reserves to have some strength, in case we needed to punch through enemy combatants."

"Well, you'll probably be reserves here too, though 'reserves' on a world like this means a very different thing than it probably did up to now for you," he sipped his ration. "Here it just means you have to fill in wherever you're needed, and a _lot_ of drudge work. Training is going to be high on your duty list too, I expect. You're good, but you have a long way to go to optimize your battlefield usefulness."

That... was actually better than what Saltem expected when he arrived on the planet, drudgery included. "What do you think I need to work on?" he asked. Just because he was already very good, and prided himself on such, did not mean that he couldn't get even better.

The younger mech drained the last of the first cube, and started in on the second.

"You broadcast your intentions, you aren't subtle at all," Fortis Bronte smiled slightly. "You'll also need to pick up the skills unique to the General's army. We fight organics, and we run more extermination missions than we do real battles. It's a very different skill set. You aren't likely to be sent to capture. That's a scout's job."

"Wasn't built with 'subtle' in mind," Saltem said. "An' how is that different?"

"Smaller targets, often faster with reflexes that tell them to dodge and hide from danger," Fortis Bronte explained. "It's a key reason that you and the Generals are by far the largest mecha here. Even a cycleformer is half again to twice the height of the average organic we've encountered. The ones here are smaller than average. They're easy to kill, pain in the aft to actually hit. They don't move or think like we do. Every tried to catch a petro-rabbit? It's rather like that, only more inclined to hide and far more flexible."

Saltem made a noise of acknowledgement. "What state are things here, with the organics?"

"Gearing up for extermination of two species that have been deemed a hazard to the resource gathering factories. Otherwise, it's pretty calm. They aren't dangerous to mecha, but they're real good at getting into buildings and pulling out the right wires."

The younger mech nodded before downing the last of the second cube, then stood when Fortis Bronte did.

"It's time for me to earn my keep, and I expect the General is expecting you back anytime now," Fortis Bronte said as they walked out.

Another nod, then after a long moment, Saltem spoke quietly, "Thank you." The words were harsh, as if unfamiliar to him. He left quickly after speaking them, heading back towards Dai Atlas' quarters. He wasn't looking forward to it, especially if they were there. That inevitably meant he'd have to suffer through listening to yet more rounds of interfacing this orn. They seemed insatiable when off duty.

He was going to have to find some better way of tuning them out when they were doing it.


	4. Repercussions

Saltem grunted softly as he scrubbed the floor of the mess hall. He'd been in the service of Dai Atlas for two decaorn now. Long enough to have earned an actual berth to recharge on instead of that slagging cage to stand in. It was as small as it could be and still fit him, and the lowest quality available, but the ability to lay down for recharge made it far superior. It also meant that the General _did_ see fit to reward compliant behavior, even if only in small ways. Nothing had been said, just four orns into his stay when he came back from his duties he found the cage gone and a simple field berth in its place. That recharge had been the best he'd had in longer than he cared to think about. Even now that the novelty had worn off, it was still a _berth_ and he wasn't about to forget it.

The best part of his orn was his training. Fortis Bronte was in charge most orns, and it was nice to be around the mech that seemed to take an interest in his future without wanting anything but Saltem's best effort to learn to be a better warrior and soldier in return. He also _respected_ Saltem in a way few had, even before he was sentenced to slavery. And there was something indefinable about his manner that made Saltem want to spend more time with the older warrior.

The worst part was inevitably the night and morning when he was trying to recharge and his master was more interested in 'facing his mate. He could only be grateful that the General hadn't shown any interest in him. He had yet to find a way to successfully block out the noise and vibrations from their activities.

Then there was Prowl. The harmless-looking Praxian _always_ seemed to be there right when he turned around or walked out the door with some instruction or another. He heard the mech greet the Generals in the hallway every time they left their quarters. He'd heard plenty of others comment on the ability of the non-com to move silently and seem to be somewhere the nanoklik he was needed to deliver a message and no earlier. No one could ever remember seeing him wait around.

No one could ever remember him looking the other way over an infraction of the rules either. Saltem quite liked his all-business attitude, even if most of the soldiers didn't. It was a nice change to what he usually had to be around, even here where the General took a dim view of slacking off on duty.

"Saltem," Prowl voice was the same tone as always, though the timing of his appearance was off. "I have questions for you."

"What kind of questions?" Saltem replied as he continued to scrub.

"Personal ones," Prowl said in the same voice. "Why do you find interfacing so objectionable?"

Saltem's movements paused briefly before he returned to his task, scrubbing harder. "Don't want to talk about it," he said roughly.

Prowl paused, then cocked his helm. "I do, however. It is an extremely abnormal opinion to hold. I wish to know your reason."

"I _said_ , I don't want to talk about it," the larger mech snarled, warning clear in his voice.

"And I do," Prowl's tone became a touch more firm. "Answer me."

Saltem snarled again, wordlessly this time, and whirled on the Aide De Camp. The first punch landed solidly on Prowl's chest. Pain ripped through the enslaved mech in response to the attack on someone he was to answer to, but he ignored it as anger welled up inside him.

He felt and saw the Praxian's shock before Prowl went skidding across the room to lay limply for a brief moment.

"I do _not_ want to talk about it!" He walked up to Prowl, punching him again.

" _Stop_!" The Praxian ordered as he curled into a ball to protect his spark chamber and helm on pure reflex, even using his hyper-sensitive sensor wings to shield the two non-repairable systems.

Saltem let out a roar, now struggling as much against his body as he tried to continue the assault on the Praxian. The roar of engines outside was only distantly noticed, though the thunder of two very large mecha landing hard on their pedes shook the very ground.

"Saltem!" Dei Atlas roared in protective rage as he charged through the door to punch his slave square in the chest, sending him flying across the large space. Axe was directly behind him, along with a medic and several others.

Saltem snarled in pain as he staggered to his pedes. His deepest instincts were screaming for him to attack-attack-attack, for him to assuage his rage-pain in the only way he knew how. The slave coding fought it, tried to halt him as one of the mechs was his master, and the original target was one his master had given control of him to.

That white fist slammed into him again, sending him through the wall that had stopped him the first time to skid to an eventual stop in the dirt.

"Stay down," Dai Atlas growled, standing over him and ready to strike again.

Saltem lashed out with the limb nearest Dai--a pede--hitting his master in a blind attempt to fell the giant. Dai Atlas could tell from the intersection of their fields the pure rage-pain of a mech completely bypassing his higher processors.

This was the last straw for the slave coding. With a burst of pain, it sent him into stasis.

Dai Atlas shook his helm and huffed as he reached down to make sure Saltem didn't boot up until he was allowed to. He stood and turned to look towards the hole in the mess room wall. "How's Prowl?"

"He'll be fine," Axe responded as he joined his mate to regard their project's limp frame. "So what's next for this one?"

"I'm going to not only make him do whatever set this off, but make him _accept_ that lashing out was the wrong response," Dai Atlas answered grimly. "I'll need you to manage the army and campaign until I'm done."

Axe's optics brightened briefly as he realized what his mate was thinking of, then nodded. "Prowl asked why he's so against interfacing."

"That's all?" Dai Atlas cycled his optics, then looked down at his project. "We do have some serious work to do on this one."

* * *

Saltem booted up, reluctant and groggy. His first awareness was of his position. Upright, but held with arms and legs spread. An enclosed space. His master was standing behind him.

"That was a reasonable question," Dai Atlas' tone was harsh. "Prowl may not be the most socially skilled of mecha, but it is no excuse to try and deactivate him."

"He doesn't understand 'don't want to talk about it'," Saltem replied, automatically testing the bindings he was in. They were far beyond what was needed to hold him, even in a blind rage.

"No, he does not," Dai Atlas agreed as he placed a hand firmly against Saltem's back just below his neck. "He was within his rights to demand an answer. Now you will tell him."

Before Saltem could respond the door to the small room opened and Prowl stepped in. Ice blue optics took in the scene, then focused on Dai Atlas.

Saltem snarled quietly, but didn't move. He could feel the pain start to build, slowly, as he stayed quiet. Dai Atlas and Prowl waited, calm and watching, as the compliance coding did its work. The bound mech shuddered as the pain from the coding reached near-blinding levels before he snarled, "It's all about pain and forcing control."

Prowl glanced at Dai Atlas, who nodded.

"Was it really worth all that pain just to avoid saying that?" Prowl asked quietly, calmly.

"Don't like to talk about it," Saltem said in answer, a faint tremor in his limbs.

Prowl simply nodded and turn to leave. When the door shut, all focus turned to Dai Atlas and the _anger_ roiling through his field. "Then that is what we are going to begin with," the giant growled. "Prowl may be content with your answer, but all he wanted was to know if your reasons matched his. I'm going to demand details. Starting with why you don't like to talk."

"It is nobody else's business," Saltem snarled, but his field gave a different answer--pain on an emotional level, not from the slave coding. Pain, shame, and humiliation that had nothing to do with the current situation.

"When it affects your performance, it is my business," Dai Atlas rumbled in reply. "Everything is my business. From how much energon you consume to why you punched my ADC instead of using your vocalizer. We both know he's no threat to you physically."

"Words don't get results," Saltem replied, pain feeding into the rage that was on a slow simmer in the back of his processors.

"They get better results than attacking your own side," Dai Atlas replied coldly. "I really would have expected your current status to have drilled that into your processors."

The bound mech snarled wordlessly in reply. Until this time, the questioners had not gotten their answers.

"Now, let's start with Prowl's question in full. _Why_ is interfacing all about pain and control to you?"

Saltem tried, but he could not resist the slave coding. "That's all it's ever been used for, including against me," he replied, trembling faintly in pain that was not physical.

Dai Atlas paused, not so much in surprise at the statement's personal nature, but in how broad it was. "Even between Axe and myself?" he chose an example he knew and knew that Saltem had seen plenty of.

"Yes," Saltem replied. "He's obviously well-trained, but it's always there."

A low chuckle reverberated between them. "If one of us is using interfacing to control the other, he's the one in charge. I need him far more than he needs me, and we both know it. Have you ever touched sparks?"

"No," Saltem snarled. "No one gets that close."

"Then you have no grasp just how little can be kept secret during one, much less from a strong bond," Dai Atlas sounded sorry for the young mech and his field backed the impression up. "You might find existence more agreeable if you got all that frustrated energy out with a willing companion."

Saltem had no reply to that as he stood there, waiting for what Dai would say or do next.

"Or do you prefer unwilling ones, like you were?"

"Don't want to interface," Saltem said, stubborn.

"Not even when it feels good?" Dai Atlas pressed.

"That doesn't happen," the younger mech replied.

"What makes you think you are different from every other mech in existence?" Dai Atlas asked calmly. "Even Prowl admits that it's fun and to the possibility that someone will eventually make it worth it for him. He just doesn't consider it worth the energy expenditure."

"How can something that _hurts_ be _fun_?" Saltem replied hotly.

"It only hurts when it's forced, _and_ the one on the receiving end isn't prepped," Dai Atlas corrected. "Do you genuinely believe that all interfacing causes pain?"

"Yes." The answer was prompt and short.

"Have you ever overloaded?" Dai Atlas asked quietly.

"No!" Was the instant reply, but the intense wave of shame and humiliation in his field told a different story.

"Someone was skilled enough to force you to overload," Dai Atlas countered. "Tell me about that time."

"Don't want to!" Saltem snarled, pain rising again.

"He just wanted a body... didn't care if it was willing or not," the younger mech started haltingly. "...He forced... Wouldn't stop _touching_ ," he snarled as he trembled from the pain of the memory. "I got him back once he was in recharge."

"Many mecha don't care if their berthmate is willing or not. Far fewer try to make their berthmate enjoy it," Dai Atlas murmured, not moving from where his hand was spread across Saltem's upper back. "Was that the end of it?"

"The rest is in my file," Saltem snarled.

"Why have you never taken charge of an interface, overloaded because you wanted to?" Dai Atlas demanded calmly.

"I don't want to play those power games," didn't want to take pleasure in another's pain.

"What if it's not a game?" Dai Atlas asked softly. "What could prove to you that mutual pleasure is possible, and common between lovers?"

Saltem had no answer for the General. The idea was so foreign to him that he couldn't even contemplate it.

"Think about it," he instructed. "I will ask for an answer again, and I expect to get it."

Saltem growled softly at the order, but didn't actively fight it.

"Good," Dai Atlas accepted the response. "Now. Just what _should_ I do about a mech that assaulted my ADC over a question?"

"Make sure he does not do it again," was the reply.

The giant hummed. "What would accomplish that the most effectively?"

"Disable the rage response," Saltem replied evenly, as if they were talking about someone else.

Dai Atlas cocked his helm. "How should I do that?"

Saltem paused, thinking, but could not come up with anything. "I don't know."

"Then I will break it the only way I know how," Dai Atlas said evenly.

He walked around Saltem to open an equipment box on a table the mech hadn't bothered registering until now. Instead of a normal box, this box unrolled to cover the table and display tools and objects of all kinds. Many were items that Saltem recognized from medical or as small versions of weapons, but the purpose of a good half were beyond his experience.

He stayed quiet, waiting, watching, as his master ghosted his hand over the impressive selection before picking up a handful of long, thin needles. He continued to watch silently as Dai Atlas came back to him and began to insert the long mental needles into joints. There was very little pain, until he twitched.

Then his neural net was on fire.

Saltem gasped, then gritted his denta against the sensation. This was barely the beginning, he knew that much.

Soon there were needles in every joint and articulation point of any consequence, locking Saltem in place at the price of intense pain if he failed. Then the needles found a sensor node cluster directly over his spark chamber where his armor parted.

Saltem growled softly to himself as he held as still as he could. This was just pain. He would not let himself succumb to pain alone.

Another found a cluster in his throat.

"Are you sorry for breaking the rules?" Dai Atlas asked calmly as he circled his victim.

"No," Saltem growled out. He focused his attention inward, counting sparkbeats. It helped block out the pain, at least until Dai Atlas gave him a shove to the center of his back that made every joint in his frame move on reflex to try and regain his balance.

Saltem couldn't help the reflexive cry of pain that burst from his vocalizer at the movements. Once he was still again, he gritted his denta and tried to ride out the lingering pain.

More needles slid into place, each one a constant current of pain. Then Dai Atlas' hand was on Saltem's spike cover. "Open and extend."

The bound mech resisted a moment, but then the cover slid open and the spike extended by command rather than arousal. He growled lowly, a response to the pain he was in more than to what Dai Atlas was doing at the moment.

The large white hand gripped the spike, holding it as needles were carefully threaded along the sensor-rich skin. Then a longer, thicker one with a dull tip was inserted carefully into the tube at the tip.

He hissed in pain as they were inserted, trying to focus to keep from flinching and causing himself even more pain.

He was allowed to be still and settle for a moment as Dai Atlas turned to the table to pick up an energy cell.

"Are you sorry for breaking the rules?" the giant asked calmly.

"No," Saltem managed to grit out passed clenched denta.

A lead was connected to the needle in his transfluid tube, then connected to the energy cell. A huge jolt of electricity slammed through Saltem's systems, concentrated on the intense clustering of sensors of his spike. He cried out, but managed to brace himself and avoid jolting his frame from the shock. It cut off as abruptly as it began, leaving the mech venting harshly as he tried to recover his equilibrium.

Then Saltem felt large hands on his lower legs, working the armor until it came loose. He didn't offer resistance, simply trying to keep as still as he could. Piece by piece, Dai Atlas stripped him of his armor, taking him down to bare protoform. He growled aggressively, trembling as he was stripped down. His field snapped with an instinctive fear-loathing for being so vulnerable, especially since he was unable to defend himself.

"Good," Dai Atlas rumbled as his hands moved over a protoform that hadn't been exposed like this during Saltem's entire functioning. His gaze met his slave's. "You will genuinely regret crossing me, or I will destroy you and find a better use for your frame," he promised, pressing a needle in deeper to scratch against a circuit board.

The bound mech cried out in pain, the volume increasing. He began to tremble from the effort of holding still against the General's onslaught.

"You will understand that you are _part_ of this army," Dai Atlas continued, his rumble low and demanding as his hands continued to move, driving needles in deeper to sensitive places. "You are part of _my_ army. I do not care how much you hurt. I do not care how angry you are. You will obey the rules like everyone else or I will punish you. _This_ is only the beginning of what I know how to inflict upon a mecha."

Saltem cried out with each new pulse of pain, having no time to recenter himself between them.

"Do you understand?" Dai Atlas demanded without stilling his efforts.

"Yes," the slave hissed, trying not to writhe in agony and generate even more. He could feel his pain reflected from his tormentor as Dai Atlas stood inside Saltem's field, but the giant didn't seem to care.

"Do you regret breaking the rules?"

"No," came the reply once more.

* * *

Saltem groaned softly as he came to in the medical bay. He still ached horribly, even though all of the damage reports had been cleared. Dai Atlas had managed to damage nearly every part of the enslaved mech's frame by the time he was done. Impressive, considering Saltem had never been in danger of actually losing his life.

He did not want to be subject to such treatment again.

"You're going to ache for orns from the look of you when you came in," Fortis Bronte's voice was low and even.

"Feels like I will," Saltem agreed, voice rough. He powered up his optics, looking over at the older warrior. Fortis Bronte was relaxed against a nearby wall, regarding him critically.

"It's been a long time since I've seen him work over anyone that much. You really ticked him off. I don't expect the punishment is over."

"What else is he likely to do?" Saltem asked.

"An educated guess? You're going to be trailing Prowl around all orn taking notes and running errands for him," Fortis Bronte snorted. "The General likes punishments like that, making you serve the mecha you wronged."

The younger mech made a non-committal noise at that.

"...How much of what happened is known around the base?" Saltem asked, hesitant and worried at what the answer would be.

"Officially, that you beat the ADC within a micron of life, attacked the General and the General dealt with you personally," Fortis Bronte told him. "Unofficially, what you looked like when you were hauled into medical four orns ago, and that the General worked you over for three orns solid. Prowl won't say what set you off, but I expect most of the base has guessed it has to do with your mutual distaste of interfacing."

Saltem groaned softly, his optics shutting off and his helm hitting the medberth with a thump. "So they will probably not shut up about it, especially to me."

"Maybe, maybe not," the older warrior shrugged. "I don't think many want to tick you off that blatantly. You'd get punished, but they'll get a beating from you, then punished by the General. He doesn't approve of baiting mecha like that."

"Hopefully that will be enough," Saltem replied.

"If not, you are going to want to work on controlling your temper," Fortis Bronte said before glancing at the door. "He's fit to move, Sir."

"Good," Dai Atlas responded, nodding to dismiss his senior sergeant and focusing on his slave. "Still planning to think before you swing at someone?"

"Yes, sir," Saltem replied, slowly sitting up.

Dai atlas nodded his acceptance. "You will find Prowl in his office. You will be his assistant until further notice," he instructed. "You will also teach him to fight. I expect no less than two joors per orn dedicated to his combat training. He is aware of this."

"Yes, sir." Hopefully this wouldn't be too bad. From all he had heard and seen, Prowl was dedicated to his work. And combat training would be a relief.

"Go now," Dai Atlas instructed before he turned and left the freshly rebuilt mech to his new duties.

Saltem reluctantly stood up, slow from the aches still present. Before leaving to his new duties, he approached Fortis Bronte, reaching out to touch the other mech's arm, his field full of the thanks he could not give voice to.

Fortis Bronte nodded and gave him an encouraging smile before they parted company and Saltem made his way to the small, cramped office of the General's aid-de-camp.

"Were you briefed on your duties?" Prowl asked without looking up from the datapad he was making rapid notations on.

"Yes," Saltem rumbled. "I am to work as your assistant. Also, there is supposed to be two joors an orn dedicated to combat training."

"I would assume from your file that you are literate. Would I be correct?" Prowl asked.

"Yes," Saltem replied.

"Small miracles happen," Prowl muttered. "That pile needs to be filed by report type and date. The boxes are labeled."

Saltem suppressed a sigh and picked up the first datapad and checked for what it was. This was going to be a long orn...

* * *

Saltem had been both horrified and amazed when Prowl had informed him that he had _no_ combat knowledge. He wasn't even sure how that was possible. So he had started off with the absolute basics. Prowl had been quick to learn the correct ways to take a fall, and they had moved on to basic blocks. Once Prowl could perform the defensive moves correctly, then they would move on to offense.

When Prowl was starting to get close, the large warrior upped the challenge by distracting him. "How did you even get in the military without any combat training?"

"I'm an enlisted non-com," Prowl responded calmly as he performed the block he'd just been shown flawlessly. "Tactical. I was not expected to fight, so the resources were not put to training me to. There were more important things to instruct me in."

"Why did you choose to join?"

Prowl faltered as the memories cued up and had to be manually shunted back into long term storage. "Because no law enforcement agency accepts mecha that have had full compliance programming. This is as close to my intended function as I can get."

Saltem hesitated with his next question as he continued to test Prowl's blocks. He knew he had an extreme dislike of others digging into parts of his past that he'd rather not be brought up. On the other hand, Prowl hadn't asked him to stop....

"What happened?"

"I was kidnapped, proclaimed deactivated," Prowl's sensor wings trembled before he got them under control. His field told another story. Hate, the kind that Saltem knew all too well, had completely consumed Prowl's field. Yet the mech remained in control, performing as he was directed. "Ended up in an underworld sub-boss' berth until he grew bored of a mech who he couldn't make scream or moan. I got away when I broke the code enough it could no longer prevent me from escaping."

"Did you do anything to him on your way out?" Saltem was intrigued, and wondered at the mech's control.

"No," Prowl growled before that too was gotten in check. "I'd set the explosives and traps over vorns to go off when I was out of the city."

Saltem nodded, then changed the subject. "Those are good. Now, how to throw a punch."

* * *

"You're distracted," Fortis Bronte commented as he threw Saltem for the third time in a row three orns later.

The younger mech growled subvocally, rising to his pedes once more. "I am having trouble coming up with an appropriate training regimen for Prowl," he admitted as he and the other mech circled once more.

"Ever trained a flier?" Fortis Bronte asked with an easy nod of understanding.

"No. I've only worked with other larger grounders," Saltem replied, moving in to wrestle the smaller mech.

Fortis Bronte hummed as he used skill against his opponent's greater height and mass. "You focus on dodging, parries, and precise strikes. They don't have the armor to take a hard hit, nor the strength to do much damage. Look up the methods used for light scouts for the moves and flyers for tips on using those wings. As I understand it more of their sensory input is from the wings than the rest of their frame combined."

"Will you help me look it up? I am still excluded from the networks," Saltem asked.

"Sure," Fortis Bronte agreed easily before shifting his weight and dropping Saltem with a roll that left the smaller mech on top, trying to pin Saltem's arms.

The larger mech grunted as he tried to fend off the other mech, but eventually was pinned down. Like when he fought his master, skill won out over his tenacity.

* * *

Saltem gave himself a quick shake before returning his focus to his work. The current base was complete and enough of the new staff present for the expeditionary force to once move on to another planet. Prowl had dragged him around to take inventory in preparation for the move first thing in the orn. It was dull work, and the larger mech was having trouble staying awake for it.

The fact that he hadn't been getting a proper amount of recharge was not helping at all. He was on duty whenever Prowl was, and Prowl needed an almost freakishly small amount of recharge. He didn't know how more of this he could take. Dai Atlas was not going to release him from being Prowl's assistant until he was satisfied with Prowl's progress in combat training.

The General had not said what his benchmark was for Prowl's combat training. So while the Praxian was learning quickly and could already hold his own against a rookie scout, Saltem could be his assistant for another decaorn, or for a vorn.

He wasn't entirely sure his systems could handle a vorn of next to no recharge. Prowl may have been built for it, but he wasn't.

Yet as dull as the work was, it was reasonably pleasant working with Prowl. The mech was as dedicated to his job as he'd appeared and everyone tended to quiet down and shape up when the ADC was in the area, which made it much nicer for Saltem. No one talked smack in audio range of the Praxian. Prowl couldn't fight, but in many ways he held more power than the General when it came to orn to orn operations.

Despite the relentless boredom, Saltem picked up the General's heavy pedefalls only a fraction of a klik after Prowl stiffened and began to turn to greet him.

"We are on schedule to depart in sixteen orns, Sir," Prowl said crisply.

"Good," Dai Atlas nodded, then focused on Saltem. "How is he progressing?"

"Well," the enslave mech replied, respect in his voice. "He is a quick study."

The giant nodded. "I heard he managed to pin Trackwise the other orn."

"Yes, in four breems." Saltem confirmed. 

They were both aware of Prowl's tension at being the subject of the conversation, but the mech held still and silent as Dai Atlas considered him. "Think he'd survive a battle as well as a scout?"

"Yes," Saltem replied instantly, confident in the abilities he had instilled in Prowl.

Dai Atlas nodded and turned his focus to Prowl. "Do you believe you could hold your own?"

"As well as a new scout," Prowl said, his sensor wings twitching. He didn't _feel_ ready to fight for real, but that wasn't what he'd been asked. He knew he wasn't for the front line, or even the secondary lines. He was a data shifter, supply manager and if he survived long enough, eventually he'd be a tactical advisor. He was a flawless shot with a blaster, even under duress and with both sides moving. Most considered that good enough.

This General wasn't like most.

Dai Atlas gave a faint nod. "Then I'm returning Saltem to the general labor pool."

Saltem held in the relief he felt. Hopefully now he'd get enough rest.

Prowl simply inclined his helm in acceptance. "Yes, Sir."

"I expect you to continue your training with Saltem," Dai Atlas continued. "It's good for both of you," he added before turning to leave.

"Are the General's quarters packed?" Prowl asked, though Saltem suspected he already knew.

"Not yet," Saltem replied. He'd barely been able to keep them clean with how much time he'd been spending with Prowl.

"Then that should be your next actively," Prowl suggested with a general dismissal that meant he had no specific duties for Saltem at the moment.

"Yes, sir," Saltem said before he left. Perhaps once he was done packing, he could spend some time in the washracks before a long recharge cycle to get him back to feeling normal.

* * *

Saltem groaned as he stood under the cleanser, luxuriating in the feel of being able to take the time to get _truly_ clean, rather than a quick job to keep up appearances. It felt almost as good as recharge at this point. He heard another mecha enter but didn't bother checking out who. He wanted to be clean and he didn't care who was there.

"Wash your back?" A familiar, and welcome, voice broke into his thoughts of clean and recharge.

"Yes, please," Saltem replied, glancing over at Fortis Bronte. Somehow the other mech seemed to know exactly when he would be most welcome.

"Congratulations on passing your first serious test," the brown mech said as he picked up a cloth and added soap to it. "There was some betting that one of you wasn't going to make it."

"That was a test?" Saltem asked in half-sparked curiosity as he continued to work on cleaning off his front.

"Creative punishments always are," Fortis Bronte chuckled. "That he said you're done means he thinks you learned whatever he wanted you to learn."

"Not entirely sure what that would be." The younger mech made a noise of pleasure as the other worked on cleaning his back.

"He learned that you can teach, you can take instruction from a weaker mecha, you didn't snap at the most annoying mecha in the entire unit," Fortis Bronte told him. "What you learned ... I'm not sure, but you wouldn't be out unless you understand what he wanted you to."

"I've met mechs far more annoying than him," Saltem replied. "Maybe he wanted to see how much shorter my temper would be with a lack of recharge."

"Really?" Fortis Bronte was genuinely surprised. "How does anyone get more annoying than Prowl?"

"It depends on what traits you find most annoying, and what's more forgivable," the younger mech said simply. "He has a respectable work ethic and he didn't fill the hours with annoying meaningless chatter and gossip."

"True enough," he agreed. "I think most dislike his talent for being exactly where he is needed without being called every time. Most of the unit's still glitchy about telepaths and low-emotion types after our last comm officer. You weren't here to meet him, but if you cross paths with Soundwave, try not to think angry thoughts. They put him in a bad mood."

"I'll keep that in mind," Saltem replied, leaning back into Fortis Bronte's touch slightly.

The smaller mech's field was warm, supportive, friendly without being demanding. It was everything Saltem had always hoped for when another mech got close to him. His touch was pleasant, doing what had been offered without making any advanced.

This moment was as close to bliss as Saltem could contemplate.

He made a soft noise and relaxed into Fortis Bronte's touch as it changed from washing to rubbing out points of tension from the younger mech's frame. It was soon all Saltem could do to keep the moans to himself and his frame steady. That touch felt _so_ good.

He didn't want it to stop.

It wasn't long before he was nearly in recharge on his pedes, just from the older mech's touch.

Eventually the shower was turned off and the touch turned to guiding. "Come on Saltem. Time for you to find a berth."

Saltem mumbled a reply that had lost much of its definition, easily going where he was led. He didn't process anything as he was settled on a berth, then the warm and welcome field laced with his as a warm frame settled next to his.

He pressed close to that frame with a quiet sigh, nuzzling up against armor as he slipped into recharge.


	5. Landing

Saltem felt the pull of the new world's gravity, and that of its moons, well before he felt the first contact ship begin its decent onto a world that promised to be much more difficult then the last one. This world had a huge population of the dominant species, and that species had mass production capabilities according to the scouts that had found it. They did not have any weapons that were going to be a serious threat to a Cybertronian unit, but that didn't mean this world would submit without a great deal of violence.

It would be interesting work, though Saltem wouldn't get to see the best of it. He would see enough, though. It would be his first time being a part of the first contact group and it was an exciting prospect. Fortis Bronte had more than hinted that if they needed heavy hitters for a battle, Saltem was going to be sent. No matter his status, he was one of the most powerful warriors in the unit and everyone knew it, including the Generals.

There was a rocking and light thud as the ship set down. Then the movement started. Everyone seemed to know exactly what to do. Everyone but him.

He looked around, trying to figure out where he could be of use. Or someone he trusted to tell him where he would be best to work.

"Saltem," Prowl's voice rose above the chaos. "Go with Snapjaw. You're going to be her firepower."

Even as the words were said a turbofox-alt mecha that could have laid flat on Saltem's palm scrambled up the large mech's frame to sit on his shoulder. "We're checking out the parameter," she trilled.

"Yes, sir," Saltem called back before turning his helm to the tiny femme on his shoulder. "Understood. Coordinates?" He began to move even before she answered, though.

The world outside the ship was flat, dry and dusty well past the horizon. It was going to be murder to keep anything clean, and washrack cleaning duty was doing to be doubly miserable. At this moment, however, it meant that walking wasn't necessary. It was near perfect conditions for driving as far as organic worlds were concerned. With a quick warning by comm, he transformed. His engine revved and he took off, careful to not go too fast for his partner hanging on. He felt her ping for a data comm link as she settled herself against one of his trailer braces where the wind whipped around.

He accepted the data comm link and integrated her data flow as his wheels made quick work of covering the alien ground. He wasn't used to working with a partner like this, but he knew she must be with how clean and pointed the data was. Fully annotated, directions queued first, what she wanted to check out next, and the things he'd need to pass on if he made it back and she didn't in a general file he didn't need to worry about.

What she wanted to check out was less easy to process. It often seemed to be nothing. The rest it was native life, most of which seemed to dwarf her, but was dwarfed by him. He kept the question to himself, deciding to wait to ask her later if she was willing. Instead he assessed the area for himself, making notes on how to change his fighting style to accommodate the native soil and wildlife. What he didn't know yet was what kind of fighting there would be when the native sentients found them. Scuttlebutt was that there would be lots of fighting, and it would be hard fighting, unlike the last few worlds they'd been sent to. This world had a large population, and tech that could actually damage a warrior. Or so he'd heard. So far he wasn't seeing it.

There was a fractional pause in Snapjaw's job-related chatter and she pinged him a linguistic file and frequency set.

::The planet's dominant language and their primary frequency range. First two sets are audio, third is audio-vid. Primitive, but advanced enough to tell the world about us before we get to a target.::

::Thank you,:: he replied, and turned in to the third frequency range to get an idea of how the natives moved. That would affect their fighting styles, and thus his own responses to them.

The massive torrent of signals scattered his processors so badly he lost control of his steering. If he'd been walking, he would have simply froze. Since he was rolling with significant momentum, he began to weave.

He quickly shut down all of the threads scanning the local frequencies and focused on getting himself back under control. Even if just to stop the horrible screeching coming from the microbot holding onto his trailer.

Thankfully, she calmed down once he was no longer tipping dangerously and weaving.

::I'm going to guess that you don't have much practice scanning planetary datanets like this one,:: Snapjaw said when he was settled again.

::No,:: he replied, a bit sheepishly. He really should have waited until he had stopped moving before trying that.

::Here,:: she databurst a short line of code. ::It'll stop opening channels after each terabyte of data is streaming. Once you're good with that, trigger another batch.::

::Alright,:: Saltem replied, quickly integrating the bit of code. He tried it out, pleased as he was able to start processing the native frequencies again without losing control this time.

::Good,:: She relaxed again, turning her attention to her nose once more. ::Let's start the perimeter circle.::

* * *

Saltem grunted as he disassembled large pieces of hull and set them aside to be used in fortifications, something he was one of the few large and powerful enough to do. He had only been slightly surprised that the ship they had arrived on would be taken apart for materials to build a base able to withstand an attack from the natives. The threat that the aliens posed was high enough that building the base was the highest priority--even Dai Atlas and Axe were doing heavy labor to get it done as quickly as possible. Everyone was running on the minimum recharge needed for their frame type. The combination of little recharge and long joors of hard work was making everyone grumpy. Saltem was perversely pleased that he wasn't the only one on such a schedule this time.

He was also pleased to see how few of the warriors complained or tried to slack off. It was a reminder that there _were_ good units out there, and he might just be in one of them right now. Dai Atlas and Prowl were both intolerant of slacking off and everyone knew it.

Saltem wasn't surprised when the two mechs, both about Fortis Bronte's size, didn't notice him as they picked up a plate to haul away.

He did notice when they returned they weren't in a hurry. Not quite slacking yet, but definitely not with the urgency most gave the current project. He scowled and placed images of them into his memory so he could track them, in case their pace continued. Prowl _liked_ to hear about such mecha, and though the rewards weren't obvious, Saltem had no doubt that the ADC spoke to the General, and did little things to make functioning easier or harder on his own.

With the third panel moved, the pair simply leaned against the hull structure with a groan.

"Can you believe that little Praxian? Thinks he's something special because he's the General's plaything," one of them grumbled.

Saltem's scowl deepened. These two would definitely be reported to Prowl. He yanked on another piece of hull, pulling it from the frame and started hauling it to the stack.

The pair continued to ignore him. "And that General. No proper officer does grunt work," the other made a small motion in the direction that Dai Atlas was working as hard as his troops, though he was well out of sight. "Something is seriously wrong with this place."

If either of them had been paying attention to Saltem, they would have noticed his optics flash and him growl softly. They had no idea what the proper behavior was for an officer.

"At least he does _one_ thing like a real general," the first one snickered. "He's got at least one plaything and his SIC in easy reach at night."

"Get back to work," Saltem snarled at them as he brought over another piece of hull. He tried to squash his temper down, these two weren't worth the orns of pain he knew Dai would put him through for beating some sense into them.

"You aren't even a real mecha," the second snorted. "A slave can't order a free mecha around."

"Yeah, shut up or _you'll_ be the one reported," The second added with a nasty sneer. "Or maybe you like what your master does to you when you're bad. I bet you walk funny for orns afterwards."

"Obviously the metacycle you've been with this outfit hasn't been enough for you to realize how little status matters to the General, and how much actual _work_ does," Saltem rumbled in warning, forcing himself to turn back to his work. If he could make himself keep working, that might stop him from pounding into these two idiots. Prowl would definitely be hearing about their behavior.

They _would_ be punished. That much he was sure of. Prowl tolerated laziness even less than he did, and the General backed Prowl up.

"Right, like they'll believe a slave over us," the first snorted, only to be elbowed by his friend. The pair shared a nasty grin and moved forward. A sudden move had Saltem pinned against the hull of the ship by their combined mass. A hand was between his legs, pawing at his valve cover to find the manual latch.

"Don't touch me!" Saltem roared in rage at that touch, putting all of strength into throwing them off. They were pushed back, but lunged forward to knock him completely off his pedes.

"You don't have that right anymore," one of the pair hissed.

Saltem growled, punching him in the face. He took advantage of being on the ground to kick the other mech. If he crushed his interface panel, so much the better.

Both of them backed up a step as they recovered, stunned that he _could_ fight back. 

The larger mech got to his pedes and stalked towards them, his optics and field flashing with rage. He began laying into them, trying to knock them to the ground so that he could trap them. The pair fought back, fought well as a team, but he had one completely flat by the time the heavy thud of a giant's pedes rattled the ground.

"Saltem!" Dai Atlas roared. "To heel."

Saltem snarled back at Dai, but backed off his targets. Pain licked at his circuits until he obeyed fully, moving to kneel at his master's side.

Wings wide, agitation clear, Dai Atlas glared at the pair. "Explain." He demanded of the pair that were still trying to fully grasp what was going on.

"He attacked us, Sir," Capnotch responded with the respect due a furious Field General standing in front of you. Everyone was well aware that in these units there was no brig time. If the unit commander was angry enough the bodies would never be found, and no one would ever look. Saltem growled at the implication that it was unprovoked, or that he was the instigator of any physical attack.

"Why?" Dai Atlas growled, his red optics glowing in warning.

"We were just talking, to each other," Grinder shrugged weakly. He was still dazed by the beating he'd received.

Saltem was still vibrating with the desire to pound them into the ground, and it was only the respect and obedience he had developed for the General that kept the enslaved mech from acting on it, orders or no.

"Well?" Dai Atlas looked down at his slave, a touch in his field hinting to Saltem that he was more inclined to believe Saltem than the new pair.

Saltem forced himself to calm down enough to give a coherent answer to Dai Atlas. "They were slacking off, and began to speak disrespectfully of yourself and Prowl, and then included me in the talk. I told them to get back to work and they refused, assaulting me instead." The anger in his field told the General just what kind of assault he meant.

A dark glower ghosted across Dai Atlas' face. "Prowl, confirm when those two received the unit regulations for when I have time to punish all three of them. For now, you two are going to work with Fortis Bronte. _He_ has the authority to pound the rules into your thick helms."

"Yes, sir," Prowl nodded and smoothly moved away, quiet as a ghost, while Saltem knelt there, vibrating, waiting for Dai Atlas to say what to do with him.

The two beaten mecha looked even more stunned at the implication they would be punished on the word of a slave when _they_ were the ones who got hurt.

"Go!" Dai Atlas bellowed at the pair, sending them scrambling for their overseer. With a deep huff, he looked down at the mech kneeling at his pede. "Come on," his voice leveled out. "You need to burn off that aggression before we go back to work."

Saltem nodded, rising to his pedes. He could feel the rage burning through his fuel lines still, making it hard to think of anything other than pounding mechs into the ground. He followed his master willingly though, outside the forming walls of their new base and into the flat red badlands. Even though it was sinking in that he was going to spar with his master, it still came as a surprise when Dai Atlas turned and dropped into a defensive posture.

"Come at me, try to beat me," the giant offered more than ordered.

He could feel his systems surge at the General's words. He needed this, needed to let out the rage. And while his master wasn't the target of that rage, it would still feel good to go up against him.

Saltem roared and charged at Dai Atlas.

It was the first match that didn't draw a massive crowd. Axe and Fortis Bronte were keeping everyone hard at work while the two giants kicked up dust and smashed craters in the earth throwing each other around.

When Saltem finally felt like he could think again he was panting, in need of energon, and the sun had set. Not that the change in light levels had challenged the warriors in the base or out of it.

"Settled enough to work?" Dai Atlas asked calmly.

"...Yes," Saltem replied, reviewing his mental state. "That wasn't my punishment," he said, an observation instead of a question.

"No," Dai Atlas confirmed. He unsubspaced a cube of energon and handed it over. "That was so you could get back to work. Punishment will come when the base is built."

The younger mech nodded his understanding, drinking the energon quickly. The longer he was with the General, the more he found himself respecting him as a mech and a leader. Even though it served a practical purpose, Saltem doubted many others would have sparred with him for so long just so he could work.

Without another word exchanged Saltem followed his master back to base, half startled when he realized that he was once more unsupervised. The two who'd attacked him were under constant supervision right now.

The General really had believed him.

* * *

The new base was almost done, close enough that mechs could be spared from building. Which also meant that Saltem and the two slackers could be spared from building to have their punishments meted out. The enslaved mech found it rather fitting that they would be the base pleasurebots for an orn.

As for his own... He knew that Dai Atlas had to punish him for fighting. At the same time, he did not regret his actions. He hadn't attacked them for what they had said, no matter how much he wanted to. He had only attacked them after they had assaulted him. Now they would know that when he said 'no', he _meant_ 'no'.

Unlike the first time, this punishment he walked into the room under his own power. It was a bit more unsettling, to effectively volunteer for the kind of pain he knew was coming. Against his field, Dai Atlas' was a brewing storm. The General _hated_ doing this, but there was no regret in him that he had to. It was part of his function, a down side to his rank and moral standards. It was what made him the potent force he was.

He was silent as the door closed behind them, waiting for what Dai Atlas would say or do. Compliant, he followed the motion to stand in the center of the room and made no protest as his ankles and wrists were bound, spreading him fully.

"Do you know why you are being punished?" Dai Atlas asked as he moved to collect the first of his tools.

"I fought Capnotch and Grindor," Saltem replied, his voice even, almost emotionless.

"Good," Dai Atlas nodded. "You were within your rights to push them away. To defend yourself. You crossed the line when you went on the offensive." He selected an electro-whip and activated it as he snapped it to unfurl it. "You will learn to control your rage."

"They will not try that again," the enslaved mech replied, not reacting to the electro-whip.

"That is true," Dai Atlas agreed as he snapped the whip across Saltem's chest. "But _their_ punishment would have been the same, and you would face none, if you had only held them off until an officer or NCO arrived."

Saltem grunted at the lash of pain. "Beating them reinforced the lesson."

"That is for _me_ to decide," Dai Atlas growled, the lash reinforcing _his_ lesson as it singed Saltem's chest twice more. "It is not your call."

He growled in pain. Beating them had been protecting himself, both at the time and in preparation for future interactions.

" _You_ will not beat another mecha under my command without prior permission," Dai Atlas repeated as the whip snapped across Saltem's throat. "Do you understand?"

Saltem growled, not wanting to agree to that.

Three more lashes, then five, then fifteen, then fifty. Each time the question repeated, each time Saltem refused to answer so the whipping continued.

It was quickly growing more and more painful, from both the damage left by the electro-whip and as the slave coding tried to force him to comply with his master's demands. Two joors later, he was shaking from pain. Very little was worth this, not two mechs who had barely touched him.

"You will not beat another mecha under my command without prior permission. Do you understand?" Dai Atlas demanded once more.

"Yes," Saltem replied, slumping as the pain from the slave-code abated. He was barely coherent enough to hear his master mutter 'finally'. It was purely reflex that caught him when he was released from his bindings, but he needed the support of the giant he sagged against.

Saltem knew he'd need the stasis and recharge from a stay in the medbay after this. It wasn't as serious as his last time the General had beaten him, but he was in bad shape and he knew it.

* * *

Saltem booted up to a slight ache in his armor, but no error reports. He powered up his optics quickly, looking around the room. He noted Fortis Bronte leaning against a nearby wall, but no one else in the room.

"You're getting better. Less than three joors with him and only one with the medics," Fortis Bronte commented. "Though you still _look_ a mess."

"I feel better this time," Saltem replied, before glancing down at his armor. "He order them to leave me like that?" His memories from the end of the session were fuzzy at best.

"Yes," Fortis Bronte nodded. "A visible reminder to you and the others than in-fighting isn't tolerated in this unit. When you're here longer you'll notice others wearing them as punishment. Bit of a shaming tactic."

The younger mech nodded, making a bit of a mental note to himself to keep an optic out for the marks. "What now?"

"Assuming you don't have any errors for the medics to see to..." he accepted the shake of Saltem's helm, "then you have the ship washrack to clean before recharge."

Saltem groaned at the thought. The washrack was going to be a horrible mess and take a long time, and he knew it.

"This time I recommend using it _before_ cleaning, as well as after," Fortis Bronte gave his friend and charge a teasing smile and offered a hand up. "You've likely got a half ton of dirt in your frame."

"I wouldn't be surprised," Saltem half-grumbled as he accepted the hand up. The red dirt of the planet got _everywhere_ despite best intentions and efforts.

"Come on," Fortis Bronte chuckled. "I'll help you get cleaned up before you get to cleaning. Then I have a couple rookies to pound into shape. I'll try to be back before you're done."

"Thank you," Saltem replied as they started towards the washracks. "Do you expect much trouble with them?"

"Nah," he shook his helm as they walked out. "They're not likely trouble. For me or you. Really, I doubt you'll see much trouble again. Prowl took the assault on you _very_ poorly. I think he likes you, as much as Prowl likes anyone."

"Good," Saltem replied. The incident had been a reminder of how much better off he'd been, being assigned to Dai Atlas. He had many more rights as a slave under the General than other slaves received. Pits, he had more rights as a slave under Dai Atlas than he did as a favored soldier under most other commanders.

The two mechs entered the washracks, blessedly empty, and quickly got to work scrubbing dirt from Saltem's frame. The surface grime came away easily, but the flow of liquid made it obvious that the bulk of the red dirt was under his armor and getting it out was going to be an even bigger chore than expected.

"How the frag does this stuff accumulate so fast," Saltem grumbled rhetorically as they worked.

"It would be faster if we removed a piece of armor at a time to clean under it," Fortis Bronte suggested without making any attempt to do so.

Saltem paused, considering. Removing the armor would leave him vulnerable, more vulnerable while awake and in control than he had been since he'd been brought online... But Fortis Bronte had been nothing except respectful of the enslaved mech's boundaries. Decision made, the larger mech nodded and quietly let the latches go on a piece of armor near Fortis Bronte.

There was a flicker of approval and emotional pleasure from the smaller mech as he carefully removed the piece before handing it forward for Saltem to clean while he worked on the protoform and systems it protected with a firm but gentle hand.

The younger mech made quick work of the armor plate, quietly enjoying Fortis Bronte's touch. It was pleasurable without being demanding, much like his massages and other times they'd cleaned each other. It felt good far beyond the physical. For the first time in a very long time, Saltem realized that he was beginning to genuinely trust another mecha. Even more, he had a leader he trusted, felt some honest loyalty towards.

Fortis Bronte accepted the armor plate back, made sure it was secured, then removed the next one that was unlatched by command to hand it forward. It was a process they repeated time and time again, both enjoying the relative solitude of the washrack and the company.

When the last piece was secured once more, Fortis Bronte stepped back to give his friend a once-over. "I think we got most of it out. How does it feel?"

"Much better," Saltem rumbled with the simple pleasure of feeling better.

"Good," Fortis Bronte smiled. "I have to get to my rookies. I'll see you later."

Saltem saw him out, then got to work cleaning the wash racks from top to bottom. The filth in there was insidious, requiring a lot of time and effort to clean out. Like every other time he'd cleaned them, there were mecha that came in to wash up, sometimes to do more. He ignored them as steadfastly as he always had, but his spark felt warm that the few mecha he was directly responsible to respected him, approved of him, _believed_ him.

He actually felt that he was _part_ of something, and that felt very good. Just a small part, but it was there. Mecha with the power to make it happen, to complete the connection, wanted him to reach that goal.

He just had to figure out how he would best fit.

...Perhaps he could learn that from Dai Atlas as well.

It was something he was still pondering much later, as he was giving the washracks a final rinse-out and heard the familiar cadence of Fortis Bronte's pedesteps entering.

"Nice to know my estimate was correct," the old sergeant chuckled. "Ready for a final cleanup and some recharge?"

"Yes," Saltem groaned in relief as he stood, glancing over Fortis to see how much cleaning the older mech would need as well. He was coated with the local dirt so he looked more red than brown, but the scuffs and dents Saltem half expected to see from joors of sparring were absent.

"Rookies," the old mech grinned at him. "Never touched me, and never will."

Saltem chuckled at that, motioning for Fortis Bronte to get under a shower head so that he could start getting rinsed off. "So when they finally do land a hit, they'll no longer be rookies?"

"Something like that," he grinned back, groaning as the light solvent spray rinsed away the dust. "It's entertaining watching them try to figure out how I keep avoiding them when they thought they knew how to fight."

Saltem hummed as he got to work helping the dirt sheet off of armor. "And meanwhile you can see what they're going to do a breem in advance."

"Exactly," Fortis Bronte laughed. "There's nothing quite like a rookie to relax me at the end of an orn. How are you getting along with the difference between a solar and orn here?"

"It's a bit disconcerting, but I'm adjusting." Saltem shrugged. "It is a bit annoying to have my optics constantly readjusting."

"Yeah, it is. You'll get used to it. A _lot_ of organic worlds have solars this sort, or even shorter. It goes with how short organic lives tend to be, I think. Everything on these worlds moves so much faster."

"How do they have time for _anything_?" Saltem asked as he continued to work at getting the dirt off of Fortis Bronte's armor.

"They don't," the brown mech shrugged. "It's why they're so primitive. They expire before they can master a field of study, much less advance it. Every once in a while a brilliant one advances them, but mostly they're just food for stronger creatures, or so busy enforcing an unnatural dominance that they can't focus on anything besides breeding and maintaining what they have accomplished."

Saltem grunted. "I don't understand them."

"I don't think anyone does, including them," Fortis Bronte agreed as he finished scrubbing his chest clean. "Ready for your turn?"

The younger mech gave a last inspection before stepping back just enough that the other mech could turn. "Yes, your back's clean."

Fortis Bronte nodded and stepped out of the shower so Saltem could get directly under the spray. "At least this round isn't going to be orns worth of impacted dust," he said as he went to work scrubbing the lash-marked plating. "Do they still ache?"

"Nothing that washing would make worse," Saltem replied, working on areas that he could reach. The smaller mech nodded and focused on working for a few kliks.

"I have real quarters with a proper berth, if you'd like to recharge with me," Fortis Bronte offered.

Saltem was quiet for several long moments, before admitting quietly, "I'd like that." He felt a flicker of warmth and pleasure at the response, but nothing of the arousal he'd learned to associate with ill intentions. His friend was merely happy that he'd earned enough trust to have his offer accepted. It made another mark in his processors that this mech could be trusted.

"I'll ping the General," Fortis Bronte smiled as he continued to work. "Make sure he doesn't want you on your cot or elsewhere tonight."

"A good idea," Saltem agreed. Pleasure from being in the company of his friend filled his field as the smaller mech got permission for Saltem to spend the night. The answer was longer than usual in coming, but eventually he agreed.

"As long as you have his quarters cleaned on schedule, he doesn't mind you recharging elsewhere," Fortis Bronte smiled as he passed on the summary of the conversation.

"Good, and easily done," Saltem replied. "Am I clean?"

"As clean as it well be until your plating is smooth again," Fortis Bronte decided, causing Saltem to turn the shower off. They moved to the drying station and made quick work of it with moving air and cloths, then walked out to get a good look at the base that had been built in three orns. It looked strong, secure, well able to withstand an assault. The interior was limited, not unlike the base Saltem had first seen when he'd met Dai Atlas.

He followed the older mecha to the quickly constructed barracks, simple but sturdy, and suiting the NCOs it was meant to house. Better than what grunts got, not as nice as the officers, and tiny compared to the Generals that led this small army. It had a good berth though, big enough for the pair of them to recharge, so long as they were close.

And it was relatively private, with just the two of them in there. The walls weren't completely soundproofed, but would block normal conversations at least.

Fortis Bronte simply motioned to the berth, offering to let Saltem settle first, as he had the much larger frame.

Saltem settled on the berth, hesitantly touching Fortis Bronte as the other mech followed. "...Would you teach me how to give you a massage?" he asked quietly, unsure of how it would be taken. He felt surprise flicker across the other's field before it settled into pleasure that matched the smile Fortis Bronte gave him. That same warm, friendly, not-aroused pleasure that often came when Saltem allowed the smaller mech to touch him.

"Yes," he said warmly as he nudged Saltem to scoot over on the berth so he could lay face down. "Remember the touches I use on you? It's a matter of using the right pressure to encourage tight cables to loosen without forcing it."

Saltem shifted obligingly, his hands resting on the smaller mech's back. "How do I know what pressure to use?"

"You know how much will cause damage," Fortis Bronte asked, getting an affirmative. It was something every military mecha knew from core coding. "Start with half that. Increase or decrease based on my reaction. I'll make it easy for you until you get a feel for it."

Saltem made a noise of acknowledgment and began to rub the broad plates of Fortis Bronte's back, just beneath his shoulders. His touch was unsure, but gentle as he started to get a feel for the motions.

"That's good," Fortis Bronte made a sound of distinct pleasure. "You can use a little more force. I'm built sturdy."

The larger mech slowly increased the pressure from his hands, rubbing up into the joints and pulleys for his shoulders. Being the one to cause such pleasure in his friend's field was decidedly nice once he got used to the idea.

"Feels good," Fortis Bronte mumbled, enjoying the touch immensely. He pressed into the touch, shifting frame, cables and armor to take best advantage of what was being given.

"Good," Saltem murmured as he continued the motions, moving down the other mech's back when his shoulders and upper back were as relaxed and limp as he could get them. When he reached a spot two thirds of the way down Fortis Bronte let out a deep, resonant groan of mixed pain and pleasure as a set of cables that bore much of his mass when he balanced upright slipped and settled into their original location.

Pleasure touched Saltem's field as the other mech seemed to melt once those cables were put back to rights. He could get used to being the one to cause this pleasure in another mech. Especially for the one under him right now.

It felt even better as he realized Fortis Bronte was beginning to slip into recharge, and wasn't fighting the process.

He continued to work until his entire back was relaxed, well after the older mech was in recharge, and then laid back down next to him and initiated his own recharge cycle.


	6. Battle for Central Planes

Patrol duty might be the bane of many a mecha's existence, right after washrack cleaning and monitor duty, but for Saltem it was the highlight of the decaorn. His plating was pristine once more, and being sent on patrol with only the tiny and generally quiet Snapjaw as an overseer was a mark of the General's renewed trust in him to perform as ordered.

It was a privilege that he was going to try hard to keep. Generally the patrols were uneventful, with the only life spotted being the less intelligent species. Sometimes even big ones like the score or so of four legged beasts trotting in the general direction of the base. The locals called them bactrians, or so his database provided. All he cared about was that they weren't an enemy and they were big enough to hurt if he ran into one. Their long, oddly curved necks stood taller than the top of his cab in alt mode.

::Something's not right with that herd,:: Snapjaw commed him.

::What are you picking up from them?:: Saltem asked, watching the herd warily.

::Scent's off. There's something I haven't smelled in with them,:: she said as she focused all her scanners on the moving herd. ::Natives. Locals are using them for cover. We have capture orders still standing for any locals.::

::Any ideas on how to get in close enough to capture the locals?:: Saltem replied.

::All of our modes are faster than they can move, at least according to their data. We just roll up on them and grab?:: she suggested.

::Works for me.:: Saltem rumbled. ::Move now?::

::Yes,:: she shifted to be out of the way of his transformation, and to be ready to leap to capture one of her own.

Saltem sped up at the confirmation, heading straight towards the herd. The bactrians changed course at the sudden charge, leaving the locals stunned at their sudden loss of cover. Despite being ready from all the images they'd gotten from the local datanet, seeing them for the first time was strange. Biped, but not biped like Cybertronians were, with two sets of arms and two apparent torsos.

These six were outfitted for travel, reddish nets and harnesses across their frames holding supplies and weapons and helping camouflage them.

"No driver!" one of them gasped, his slit pupils widening significantly as he stared stupidly at Saltem's onrushing form.

"Scatter!" another barked, getting all six to move in different directions.

Saltem poured on the speed to get the two of them into range of the organics, and transformed once he was close, reaching out to grab two of the six-limbed organics, one for each hand. Snapjaw leapt onto the back of a third, using her weight to knock it off balance and quickly tied its legs, then each set of arms.

Projectile fire, smaller than even microbots would use, bounced off Saltem's armor.

Saltem growled in annoyance, hunching down to protect the two he grabbed from being hit by friendly fire. ::You got yours?:: he commed Snapjaw.

::Yep,:: she yipped as she bolted towards one of the others, her alt mode moving low to the ground and far less intimidating than the true giant she was partnered with. ::Going for another.::

One of those firing on Saltem stopped and bolted at top speed away from the conflict. He immediately became her target. ::Try to keep them close. No escapees.::

Saltem kept his grip on his two, but stood back up and darted around the others, cutting each of them off before they could run away. The sixth one seemed to realize what was going on and broke the patterns, rushing for one of the bound ones to cut free before they both ran in different directions. Snapjaw was after one, leaving Saltem to try and hem the other in without using his hands. He growled, running to cut off the other. He tried to grab him to pin him between arm and chest, but the organic managed to dodge away. The blasted thing was fast and far too agile. It wouldn't be a problem if he had his hands free, but with one of the creatures in each, the loose one was gone by the time Snapjaw dragged her recapture back towards the other two she had tied up.

"What do you want?" one of the critters in his hands spoke, its voice low and rasping.

::One got away,:: Saltem growled in frustration, ignoring the question from the one in his hand for the moment.

"Noted," she huffed, then shrugged as she transformed to stand up and look over the five they had. Her three were effectively muzzled, with all three sets of limbs secured. The two Saltem had were squirming but didn't have any real hope of escape. "Bring one down and pin it so I can bind it," she continued in Cybertronian. "We can haul them back on your trailer."

Saltem knelt down, shifting one hand to pinning the organic down instead of holding, exposing enough for Snapjaw to tie. "Understood."

It squirmed and snapped at her, all four arms and powerful legs clawing and kicking as she captured each to bind together.

"What do you want?" the other asked again, drawing her attention to it.

She sniffed and cocked her helm, then hummed. "Your world's resources," she told it evenly before looping the first one's jaws shut. "We want _you_ to study so we know just what we're up against," she explained in a flawless rendition of the dialect she'd been addressed in. "Next one," she quipped with at grin in Cybertronian.

"Who are you?" the organic asked, stilling in Saltem's hold.

"Designations don't translate well," she shrugged as she bound his hind limbs. "Snapjaw will work. You have something you're called by your kind?"

"My name is Chesmu," he said. "How did you learn the language of my people?"

"Datanet, phone, radio and vid," she said simply as she moved on to the lower, smaller set of arms. "This world is almost as thick with transmissions as ours."

"Where is your world? What is it like?" Chesmu asked. Hopefully his lack of struggling and willingness to speak would allow him to remain with his mouth free.

She chuckled and bound his upper arms together, then bound the three sets to each other. "A long way away. It's...." she shrugged. "It's the homeworld." She looked up at Saltem. "You transform. I'll secure them to your trailer," she instructed in Cybertronian.

Saltem obediently transformed, holding still for her.

"What resources could you need here?" Chesmu continued.

Snapjaw smiled at him before picking up the larger creature to place him on the wheel well nearest the cab, right next to where she usually sat. "Energy, minerals, maybe trade goods if your governments are cooperative and don't fight too much, or land for us to settle."

"And what happens to those that don't cooperate?" Chesmu's voice was carefully neutral.

"They get wiped out of existence," she said easily before moving on to secure the other four that had been captured over their growling struggles. "The same system your kind have generally used," she added as she came back up to Chesmu and settled into the rigging between him and the cab. "Let's get back to base," she chirped at Saltem in Cybertronian.

"Have you alerted them to our haul?" Saltem asked her in Cybertronian.

"Yep," she yipped back cheerfully as he began to roll towards the base. "The General is very pleased."

"You said we were to be studied. What is it you want to learn?" the biped reptilian centaur asked.

She focused down on him. "How your bodies work, what they are vulnerable to, all the useful military questions that our tech can find out that you haven't yet. It's not really my field though. I just bring in specimens for the science types."

"How many of you are here, then?" he asked.

"Enough to get the job done," she gave him a knowing smile as the wind whipped around them.

"What are you? You are nothing like anything we have seen before," Chesmu said.

"Since we're from half way across the galaxy, I'm not surprised," she laughed playfully. "You can call our kind Cybertronians, at least until somebody higher up the food chain decides on a different translation." She leaned forward until she was right next to the radio transmitter that was set on send. "That's Cybertronian, from Cybertron," she said very clearly and carefully for those on the other end that she knew were listening before settling back to her spot. "I'm sure they'll be blocked soon, but for now your commanders might as well hear. Though really, they'll probably get at least _you_ back."

"Why not contact us first?" Chesmu asked, watching her warily.

"Procedure," she shrugged. "Establish a base. Figure out what we're dealing with. Then the General determines how we go about introducing ourselves."

"How long ago did you land? What kind of introduction does your general favor?"

She chuckled. "A bit over five of our days ago. God's Burden is one of the more civilized generals. You're lucky. Some I've served under would have taken your little fact-finding mission as an attack. God's Burden is more inclined to talk, as long as it gets results. He'd probably have introduced himself in a couple more of our days."

"I assume your days are not the same length as ours?" Chesmu asked.

"No," she shook her helm. "They're a lot longer. Something like thirteen times longer. Your full day-night cycle is only three of our hours, but we break our day into forty-two hours. I'm sure one of the linguist types will come up with a translation for our times to make meetings less awkward soon. Or they have and it just hasn't filtered down to me yet."

"The higher-ranked officers have started receiving translations," Saltem remarked casually in Cybertronian.

"Why did you land here, on our continent?" Chesmu asked.

"Largest stretch of apparently uninhabited land in the most desirable climate," she answered easily. "It was here or on near your north pole and we like this better, despite the dust."

"And what is it that you do?" Chesmu asked, trying to keep the conversation going. Even if she did know all this was going to his superiors, anything she said was more than they had before, lie or truth. Both were valuable when one knew so very little.

"Scout," Snapjaw answered. "That's why I'm so small. I'm designed to go places most are far too big to even realize are there. What is your job?"

"Similar, usually for the more difficult jobs," Chesmu replied. "And the big one?"

"Weakest? He's a warrior, guard, heavy labor, cleaning crew. Whatever he needs to be really," she said easily.

"...His name is 'Weakest'?" Chesmu asked incuriously.

"It's the best translation I can come up with," she admitted. "Like I said, translating designations is difficult at best. The General gave him that designation when he got in trouble and was sent to him. Least might also be correct enough. Your languages are very limited and ambiguous by our standards."

"Ah," Chesmu said. It made more sense as part of a punishment. "And what other kinds of your people are on the planet?"

She had to pause, phrasing the unit's function roster through their best guess as to function-job translations. "The General, warriors, scouts, doctors, xeno-scientists, architecture-construction specialists, communications, special operations/diplomats, linguistics ... Probably a few others by how you think, less by how we do. Our function doesn't break down into your jobs neatly all the time."

"Are they civilians or military? Or a mixture over both?"

"Everyone in a first-contact unit is military," she said easily. "The non-coms don't come until we've secured the area. They're the ones with all the scientific and contraction mecha designed to build the world into a viable mining, recreation or residency colony depending on what is decided for it."

"Why not just chose worlds that do not have intelligent life on them?" Chesmu asked.

"Most don't have intelligent life, or any life at all," she shrugged. "We just don't worry much about it if they do. The resources matter to Cybertron. We've already established bases on your other major solar system bodies. Those four gas giants are a rich resource that will last millennia, and many of the other planets and moons are well worth investing in."

"How much resources does your world need, if you are willing to put so much effort into getting them?"

Snapjaw cocked her helm and hummed as she considered the question. "I have no idea. I just look for what I'm told to. Why is way above my rank and need to know. I know as much as I do about all the other things that happen because I've been around long enough to have many different unit assignments that do different phases of ... use."

"There is nothing obvious, then? No well-known shortages?" Chesmu tilted his head curiously.

"Energy and the materials for buildings and to construct new mecha," she decided. "The basics of life and expansion. There's always a demand for the new and exotic too. It is very much the same as your nation before there was another army too dangerous to challenge directly."

Chesmu was about to ask another question when he saw that they were approaching a high wall of obviously alien design, in scale if nothing else. He guessed it was several times taller than Weakest in biped form and wondered how it could possibly have been hidden from satellite and flyover detection. It seemed to be mismatched metal plates welded and riveted together, curved slightly outward to make scaling it more difficult. Though he couldn't see a doorway, a section of the wall slid open at their approach.

Inside he could only gasp and gawk at the scale of things. Snapjaw was about the size of a person, but the others he saw walking about and the scale of the buildings were more to the scale of Weakest. A couple stories tall, or more.

"By all the gods," he whispered in a hushed tone. The ship that they came on must have been massive! How could they have missed it?

"By our god," Snapjaw told him as they rolled towards a building more to her scale near the entrance. "By Primus' will. I don't know what your gods will do to help you."

Chesmu ignored it for the moment. His gods would give him strength to get through this, and hopefully out of it as well. As he continued to stare at anything and everything, they pulled to a stop in front of the more normal sized building and several less fluffy-looking mecha, some that were built with multiple legs and arms, more like an insect than the majority.

"Cooperate and talk and you're likely to be returned," Snapjaw told him quietly as his teammates furthest back were unloaded. "The destructive testing will use those who attacked us first."

"Understood," Chesmu replied quietly, watching the newcomers warily. They were chittering in their own language, or what he assumed was their language. It _sounded_ mechanical to him at any rate. Nothing was being said to him as he was lifted and carried inside. It was a space too big for him, the ceilings too tall, but it was still shorter than the big robots would need.

He could smell disinfectant and cleaners. The heavy metallic smell. Oil and lubricants. Even a faint ozone from constantly running machines.

Despite keeping his eyes open and watching everything, Chesmu was still surprised when he realized that he was now being carried into a lab like nothing he'd imagined. It was full of computer-like equipment, a row of cubicles on the back wall that didn't have a front wall ... it looked entirely too much like the clean futuristic science fiction programs that were so popular, but nothing like them at the same time.

He'd been captured before. He would survive this as well.

* * *

The first signal that this was not going to be a normal orn was the air assault sirens and comm signals calling all airframe mecha to the sky two local dawns after the scout unit had been captured. Not long afterwards the alert went out that the locals had mounted a sizeable army, complete with tanks and artillery, and was rolling towards the base.

Saltem and many of the other combat mecha, the warriors built and sparked, grinned in anticipation and moved to get their weapons.

No organic army had been a threat yet. This one would be crushed like all the others.

A joor later found every fight-capable mecha on the battlefield.

Saltem roared as he kicked out, catching a warrior organic on the torso, between the two pairs of arms. The enslaved mech had seen a large knot of soldiers heading towards Fortis Bronte, and was trying to make his way to join the older warrior. Not that he thought Fortis Bronte _needed_ his help, but he wanted to be there in case he did. The old mech mattered to him in a way he preferred not to think much about.

There was still a pit-load of enemy soldiers between the two of them. One of their lighter tanks rolled in and Saltem targeted it with one of his shoulder missiles. The tank rocked back as the armor-piercing projectile detonated inside, smoke rising from the hole and the top hatch. 

A group of six organics on motorcycles rushed him with chains, two managing to hook onto his upper pede supports and driving around him in opposite directions. Saltem jumped forward and rolled, yanking the chains out of their moorings in his legs and out of the attacker's hands. He then swept out, knocking more off of their motorcycles before getting to his pedes once more.

::Get three paces east!:: Dai Atlas roared across his private comm line.

Saltem didn't even spare the time to acknowledge the comm, he simply reacted. He launched himself in the direction indicated, just barely avoiding getting hit by crashing airplane.

He didn't have time to gasp at the close call--there were still too many enemies on the field. He continued moving towards where he saw Fortis Bronte last; it was in the very heart of the fighting. That's where they both belonged.

In the distance he was aware of Dai Atlas hitting the ground on his pedes and rolling over more than a few organics before he picked up one of their tanks and threw it at another. Fortis Bronte was smaller than either giant, but he was bigger than the average mecha and still more than large enough to avoid spending much energy on blaster fire by focusing on brute force, close quarters combat.

Out of nowhere a proximity alarm pinged Saltem, just in time for him to know he'd gotten hit by a tank round.

Saltem grunted in pain, but kept moving. He couldn't afford to pay attention to it. Instead he pulled two short swords out of subspace, using them to cut a swathe through the organic footsoldiers and their flimsy machines built for speed as he made his way towards Fortis Bronte's position just in time for the organics to pull back and a rain of mortar shells to descend on them.

"Move!" Saltem called out to the older warrior, pushing him out of the direct path of the mortars. This was going to _hurt_ , but he had the heavier armor. The first explosion was enough to knock them both down. The second scorched and peeled paint. The third, fourth and fifth rattled their internals and processors, dislodging more than a few minor components and breaking thin wires. Six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven ... Saltem forced himself to stop counting as he and Fortis Bronte alternately helped each other crawl, roll and just run from the down pouring explosives, Saltem subtly keeping himself between the smaller mech and the raining explosives.

Then the bombardment stopped.

A huge explosion behind the organic's lines marked the end result of the retaliatory strike by the General and his mate.

"Condition?" Saltem grunted as he surveyed the damage. He could see several of their mechs down, unable to continue the fight. A couple of them were even starting to gray. He would need to be seen by medics after the battle, but at least he could continue on until then.

"Functional," Fortis Bronte got to his pedes and turned to face the oncoming army, ready to fight on. "You?"

"Same," he replied. He braced himself on his pedes, swords in hand, and bellowed a war cry as he charged back into battle with Fortis Bronte at his side. It felt good to be fighting again, but even better to be fighting at the side of a warrior he trusted. Individually the aliens were no threat, even their heavy tanks weren't really that dangerous, but in the thousands sheer mass gave them an edge.

As one of the few biggest threats on the ground, Fortis Bronte and Saltem were quickly surrounded by alien soldiers once more. The two moved until they were back-to-back as they fought their way through the organics, preventing blind spots that could be taken advantage of. Trusted that their battle-partner wouldn't perform any moves that would interfere with the other, while still keeping any soldiers from getting close.

Unfortunately the tactic that protected them from assault made them a better target for the tanks and light artillery that were still on the field. 

"Just hold out," Fortis Bronte grunted as a heavy tank round hit him square in the chest. "The airframes are cleaning up the heavy weapons."

"I'm holding up," Saltem grunted, not even trying to shield himself from a soldier's tiny projectiles before he snapped his sword through the organic's middle. "Shouldn't be long now."

Fortis Bronte grunted in reply as he focused fully on the swarm of organics. To one side he watched Snapjaw and two other scouts tear into the enemy in a much more brutal fashion. The small frames lacked the mass to flatten and kill the organics instantly, being shorter than their opponents and not weighing that much more. They relied on claws and alt mode jaws to bleed them to deactivation, or by tearing internals out. As often as not their attacks were debilitating rather than fatal, though without prompt medical treatment, even those wounds could prove fatal eventually, and were quite effective at putting the organics out of the fight.

Not a klik too soon, the last of the heavier artillery and tanks was disabled. Now it was just a long slog to take care of the remaining soldiers whose weapons were _far_ less effective against the heavy armor of Cybertronian warriors.

A call went out for the non-warriors to begin to fall back, taking wounded or prisoners with them. That still left two thirds of the Cybertronian unit on the field, including the General and his mate who had given up the air to make better use of their mass on the ground. The lighter airframes remained on the wing, using built-in blasters to decimate organic ranks in long sweeping strafing runs they barely paused in when they banked to turn around.

"Still steady?" Fortis Bronte asked, his field extending to check on his battle partner.

"Yes," Saltem replied, fields weaving together easily. His injuries were relatively minor, and he allowed himself the same check on Fortis Bronte's condition. "You?"

"Steady," the smaller mech reported. Though his field revealed heavier damage than Saltem, it was not critical damage. His armor was strong and thick, well suited to his function as a front line warrior.

The organic forces began to try and retreat. They did not face an easy time of it. Cybertronian warriors continued to cut down as many as they could. This would be a lesson for the aliens--any attempts to resist would come at a very high cost.

* * *

When the battle was called Fortis Bronte turned to his battle partner and reached up to claim Saltem's mouth in a fiery, passionate kiss that was an expression more of his exaltation at the battle and how hot he was running over victory more than any particular desire. Not that he was the only one, but he was likely the only one not expecting his partner to reciprocate or go further.

Saltem growling in pleasure and pulling Fortis Bronte slightly closer was the last thing that the older mech had expected, but he sank into it with a rumble of desire and no questions. His hands moved along scorched plating, avoiding the damage that would hurt while his fingers slipped into natural gaps to send tingles of pleasure into Saltem's sensor net.

The larger mech gasped into his mouth, hands instinctively kneading at armor that had not been damaged. He felt Fortis Bronte moan against him and press into the contact, desire licking at their mingled fields. A hand slid between them to stroke Saltem's spike cover in question.

Saltem stiffened at the touch, pulling back slightly. Even if it was what the older mech wanted, he couldn't do that.

Without missing a beat Fortis Bronte's hand moved away to resume the pleasurable touching as the older mech stretched to reclaim the kiss. His field was hot with desire, but also with acceptance.

The younger mech relaxed back into his touch, kissing him back hard. He was running completely on instinct, and it was completely obvious that Saltem had no real experience. Fortis Bronte didn't care. At this point this was strictly about giving Saltem a good experience so next time, when they weren't so keyed up, it would be easier.

The larger mech clung to him, sinking down to his knees as they began to fail to support him. Fingers sunk into areas that made Fortis Bronte sigh in pleasure when he was massaged, but the attempts to return pleasure were unskilled and uncoordinated.

"It's okay," Fortis Bronte whispered against Saltem's helm as he turned his glossa to exploring the thick white antenna there. "Let it take you."

Saltem groaned, pleasure skittering up and down his back, and along his limbs. His arms wrapped around sturdy shoulders, holding Fortis Bronte close. It felt so good, nothing at all like when others had touched him to force pleasure on him. He trusted this mech, trusted him to respect even unspoken limits, and had yet to be betrayed. Even now when Fortis Bronte was visibly in need of relief, he respected Saltem in a way no other had.

Strong, knowing hands worked under Saltem's plating, ghosting over circuitry and cogs to set off sensors deep inside that had never been touched like that. It left him trembling, vulnerable and compliant in a way no other mech had managed to get him. His trust that the older mech would respect limits caused his guard to drop, allowing for those limits to be pushed. He moaned in Fortis Bronte's audio, pleasure washing over him in waves as arousal spiraled upwards.

"Yes," Fortis Bronte moaned, excited by his success and the aroused pleasure buffeting him. He'd need relief when this was over, but right now he was far too pleased that Saltem was letting him do this to worry about the ever-more strident demands of his own frame.

Saltem gave a quiet whimper of pleasure. As inexperienced as he was, it wasn't long before his field began to flare out in pleasure. He buried his face in Fortis Bronte's neck just before the older mech tipped him over the edge, his wail of release vibrating delicate neck armor. His final thought before his processors whited out was that if this was what an overload should be like, it might not be bad to try again.

With a soft reboot, Saltem came back to full awareness the first thing that clicked was that he still felt good in a relaxed way despite the zips and tingles of pleasure still darting about his systems. The second thing was that he was still on his knees and pressed up again Fortis Bronte, who was nearly vibrating with need.

"Good?" Fortis Bronte asked.

"Yes," Saltem replied, voice rough. "How do I help you?" He wanted to repay him, to make Fortis Bronte feel that good. He heard the spike cover slide open as Fortis Bronte gently lifted one of his hands, manipulating the digits to wrap around the fully pressurized, ridged spike.

"Just rub," Fortis Bronte whispered, his systems already feeling the sharp jolt of that touch.

There was no hesitation in Saltem's field, no tenseness in his frame as he did as told. His hand pumped, moving over the hard length as he mouthed neck armor. He was no more skilled at this, but far less skill was needed for results.

"Ohhhh, Sal...." Fortis Bronte moaned, tipping his helm back to offer more of his throat to the unexpected attention and wrapping his arms around Saltem's shoulders to brace himself. He'd never guessed that the battle would lead to this, but he welcomed it. His field exploded with pleasure. A tactile overload could be more intense if it was skilled and drawn out, but nothing short of a spark merge could drive an overload this fast and he needed it.

Saltem's glossa came out, running along the gaps in the delicate plates and he hummed at the pleasure in the other's field. He continued to work the spike in his hand, though he put out of his mind exactly what part of Fortis Bronte's body he was touching.

It only took another moment before Forest Bronte stiffened and roared his release, spilling hot, gooey transfluid onto Saltem's hand and up his chest. He continued to stroke until the other mech relaxed, holding him close.

"Thanks," Fortis Bronte mumbled, venting air hot enough to heavily burn the nearby organic remains as he relaxed into the embrace and reluctantly signaled his spike to depressurize and retract.

Saltem hummed in response, nuzzling his cheek. "Thank _you_."

Fortis Bronte smiled and reached into his subspace for an abused but reasonably clean cloth. "Let's get that mess off you, check in with medical for our spot in line, and see how much we can fix on our own before we're dragged out here for cleanup detail."

Saltem grunted in agreement, pulling away from the other mech. "Probably gonna get put way down their list."

"Not like I'm going to be much higher," Fortis Bronte chuckled. "There are deactivated and critical injuries. Anything that won't add you to that list is a very low priority at the moment. But after we check in and get our position, I can fix some of it." He finished wiping the worst of his transfluid from Saltem. "Do you have any field repair training?."

"Standard training, but I picked up some more out of necessity on my own," Saltem replied, carefully not looking at the fluid that didn't wipe off easily, or the rag Fortis Bronte had used for cleaning up as it went back into the mech's subspace. It made him queasy to think about, but thinking about making his friend feel so good, about the lack of demand for it, about what had actually been chosen when he offered ... Saltem knew full well that what he'd done was the least effective way to overload a spike. It was the only way that he hadn't been forced to perform.

Was Fortis Bronte really that clued in? Did he know he was asking for something Saltem had never done?

* * *

Saltem sighed as he finally reached Fortis Bronte's quarters. It had been a long orn. There had been a lot to clean up after the battle and he had been there for the entire cleanup effort since his injuries were so relatively minor. And he still ached from unfinished repairs. The medics had their hands full from the heavily injured, and the rest could wait a few orns until the worst were fully stabilized. Fortis Bronte was in much the same condition as the enslaved mech, especially after Saltem had dug out three shells that had lodged under his armor in awkward places to reach.

"I'm glad you still want to recharge here," Fortis Bronte said as he flopped onto his berth, now larger to accommodate Saltem's presence.

"...So am I," Saltem said quietly as he settled next to the smaller mech. Even though the berth was larger, he still stayed close, frame pressed against frame. Their fields reached out to lightly weave together at the edges.

"Think you might want to do that again?" Fortis Bronte asked carefully with hope in his field.

Saltem thought about it for a moment, thinking about how it had felt, both the physical sensations Fortis Bronte had created in him, and the emotional impact. "...Yes," he said finally.

Fortis Bronte smiled. "Will you let me jerk you off?"

"Like how you had me pleasure you?" Saltem asked. At Fortis Bronte's nod, he hesitated, unsure of himself and his feelings about it. He didn't like to think about that part of his frame being touched, and had forced himself to not _really_ think about how he had given the older mech pleasure. But he could not deny the pleasure that had been in his field, of how good he had made Saltem feel without asking anything in return... Of how good it had felt to trust Fortis Bronte in this... It left him torn.

"Will you trust me to bring nothing but pleasure to us both?" Fortis Bronte asked, hoping it was an easier question to answer.

"Yes," was the reply, without any hesitation this time.

"Then lay back, turn off your optics, and open your spike cover," Fortis Bronte's voice was gentle, encouraging and requesting rather than ordering.

Saltem vented deeply to steady himself before rolling onto his back. His optics turned off, and the spike cover opened, though his spike remained sheathed inside. He felt Fortis Bronte lay next to him. A hand slid down his chest, exploring with pleasing fingers as the smaller mech leaned in to kiss him softly. This was the opposite of what they'd done on the battlefield, yet many of the emotions were the same. Fortis Bronte wanted to make Saltem feel good.

It was that feeling, more so than the physical ones, that made Saltem press into the kiss. He could feel the care in the other mech's field, and he instinctively wanted more of it. His friend seemed more than willing to oblige and extended his field, offering more contact as skilled hands worked their way down Saltem's frame until one lifted so a single finger could trace the spike housing.

Saltem gasped softly, his hips pressing upwards unconsciously. Fortis Bronte smiled and repeated the motion with his glossa, expelling a puff of warm air over the tip of the spike. The younger mech moaned at that, and the tip of the spike started to emerge from its housing. His hands clutched at what plating it could.

"Perfect," Fortis Bronte whispered encouragement, knowing that his lover wouldn't know what was natural. He repeated the swirl of his glossa around the housing, then slid it inward in a spiral that trailed warm, slick oral lubricants around the sensor rich space.

Saltem moaned again, his hips giving a slow buck upwards into that wonderful pleasure as it was repeated, then a third time. He didn't know how it was possible for such a touch to feel so _good_. He was quickly moving beyond the ability to think, to do more than accept the touches as his spike slid free and began to pressurize fully. All around it was heat, slickness and the line of tightness that was his lover's lip plates moving up and down the length.

He was so far gone in pleasure that even the familiar act did not dredge up memories of when he had been forced to perform it himself. Wordless gasps and moans spilled from his vocalizer, hips moving in an erratic rhythm that was smoothly and easily matched by the mech with him. Their entwined fields spoke of pleasure and happiness in the other mech with not a trace of anything negative.

Then something tightened around the end of Saltem's spike when the lip plates brushed against the spike housing. He cried out in pleasure, his field flaring. Molten energy pooled in his abdomen, muscle cables tightening as he came right to the edge.

Vibration was added to the intensity around his spike as Fortis Bronte began to hum as he lifted his helm up, then slid back down. 

That tipped Saltem over the edge, hips snapping up as he cried out again and transfluid spurted from his spike to be easily swallowed. Fortis Bronte continued to work Saltem's spike, licking and sucking until the last bit of transfluid came out and Saltem sank into a nearly strutless lump of hot metal on the berth.

Vents worked furiously to try to cool the large mech, his processor quiet as he lay there. He was only distantly aware of Fortis Bronte moving to lay alongside him, calmly waiting for him to find his ability to think again.

It was almost a breem before he was coherent once more. And when he was...he couldn't think of what to say. Of what to even _think_. So instead he wrapped his arms around the other, pulling him close.

Fortis Bronte was willing to let the silence hold, content with what he was getting from Saltem's field. He'd widened the chink in Saltem's anti-interfacing armor into a good-sized break. Now to let Saltem stew on what he'd leaned for a while.

Recharge was calling to him despite the arousal in his systems and he was not inclined to deny it.


	7. Pressing Forward

For two full orns and the duty shift of a third Fortis Bronte had been there, quiet, undemanding and simply watching. Their down time was spent much as before; sparring, recharge, reading, the occasional strategy game from the holo board that Fortis Bronte had.

Still, Saltem's chores had given him plenty of time to think about what had happened between them after the battle. He could not deny how pleasurable the overloads had been, or the emotional pleasure of willingly _giving_ an overload. And the way Fortis Bronte had driven him to overload before recharge... 

It was an act he had only ever associated with force and power... with the one receiving being the one in power. But Fortis Bronte had not been forced to perform it, and Saltem had no power for him to court. Indeed, the older warrior had _enjoyed_ giving pleasure that way.

That had blown Saltem's processor when he had been able to think about it. It up-ended every single belief he held about interfacing--and there was no doubt that was what he and Fortis Bronte had engaged in. There was no way for him to mistake the truth in the other mech's field, or in his own reactions to the other's touch. It was a combination that made him want more.

As much as he'd been thinking of it, the shift in Fortis Bronte's field when they settled on the berth was unmistakable. The kiss was light, however, a check rather than a demand. Saltem pressed closer, hesitant, tentative, but the hand that lightly stroked the older warrior's side was willing.

Strong brown hands moved along Saltem's frame, touching with a skill far beyond Saltem's and with a clear intent to arouse. Saltem nuzzled his cheek, his own hands moving questioningly along the other's armor, as if knowledge of what to do would pop into his processor.

A light touch circled a dataport on Saltem's chest. "I can hardline you the basics," Fortis Bronte offered.

Saltem paused a moment, then let the dataport slip open. "Thank you."

Fortis Bronte simply smiled and kissed him hotly as he slid a data cable from his chassis and plugged in. The files, fairly large and detailed, were queued up for Saltem while Fortis Bronte's hands went back to roaming his lover's plating. As the files finished transferring, he slid one hand over Saltem's spike cover in question.

Saltem moaned and pressed into the contact, the cover sliding open in welcome. He kissed the older mech as the first files opened, but didn't have the processor power to fully comprehend them as he clutched the other mech closer. They kissed, Fortis Bronte teasing the spike housing with his fingers and Saltem rapidly losing his grip on any thought other than processing the pleasure being offered to his frame.

The younger mech whimpered against his mouth, hips thrusting into the touch. It was so good, impossibly good. Arousal unlatched his spike, allowing it to slide out and into Fortis Bronte's waiting hand.

"This is going to feel so good," Fortis Bronte rumbled, excited by the anticipation.

Saltem's arms went around his back as he whimpered again, beyond thought as he tried to press closer to the mech above him. The pleasure of his spike being stroked got his hips to buck and dragged moans from him. He was barely cognizant of when his lover shifted, sitting up and moving down his frame. A small part that was paying attention anticipated the intensity of Fortis Bronte's mouth. That same part stuttered when it registered that his lover wasn't between his legs, but straddling his hips.

Strong brown fingers guided Saltem's thick, long spike between slick platelets and into a valve that was even slicker as it squeezed and rippled, and Fortis Bronte moaned.

A cry of surprise and pleasure came from the younger mech's lips. His field flared in a mixture of the same, mixed with a touch of fear. Fortis Bronte leaned forward and kissed him, his field extended and rich with the pleasure and willingness. "I want this, very much."

"Don't want to hurt..." Saltem mumbled in reply, though he kissed the other mech again, their fields firmly entwined. He wanted to believe that it could be good for Fortis Bronte too, if the other mech had chosen this.

"You won't," he promised with a shudder of pleasure as he guided their movements, his powerful legs doing much of the work of drawing them apart and gravity driving them together.

The movement drew a moan of pleasure from Saltem. His fingers found seams in the smaller mech's armor, wriggling in to stroke underneath. Through their fields he felt the pleasure he was giving his lover, the smooth way that Fortis Bronte moved making it hard to believe that he wasn't very much enjoying what was happening.

"Wanted this for some time," Fortis Bronte moaned deeply as the sensor nodes inside his valve tingled with the growing charge. "Your spike feels _good_."

Saltem didn't have the ability to reply coherently, but his words registered in his CPU. The larger mech's hips began to buck from the growing pleasure as he pulled Fortis Bronte in for another kiss. His field rioted from the pleasure of the hot, slick valve moving over and gripping his spike. He reveled in the matching pleasure roaring back at him from his lover.

This was far beyond anything Saltem could have imagined interfacing to be, and it was nothing he was prepared for. His field began to flare wildly as pleasure quickly rose in his systems. He was getting close, so close.

"Overload for me, in me," Fortis Bronte moaned as their hips clanged together. He squeezed his valve tightly around the hard shaft inside him, his voice rising to a near keen at the charge cascading through his systems.

Saltem cried out as release tore through his body, and fluid flooded into the valve around him. He clung to his lover tightly as wave after wave ran through him, leaving him spent. It wasn't enough to blind him to the intensity of the overload that drew a bellow from Fortis Bronte and stiffened the smaller mech's frame. Neither did it blind him to the explosive charge that crackled into him from his spike and across his frame as Fortis Bronte overloaded hard.

He shook in the aftermath, clutching at the older mech tight. Nothing could have prepared him for the intensity of their overloads. It was so different from what he had always expected, almost different enough to scare him. Likely would have been too big a jump if Fortis Bronte had gone straight for this type of interfacing.

"That was worth the wait," Fortis Bronte murmured as he relaxed on top of his lover, both their chassis struggling to cool.

Saltem shifted so that he could bury his face against his lover's neck as he continued to shake. He finally stilled after a breem, his hold on the older mech easing. "...How long?" he asked quietly.

"Longer than we've recharged together," he admitted quietly.

"Why?" the young mech asked, knowing how much he had to change to even allow the other mech to touch him beyond basic cleaning.

Fortis Bronte hummed, trying to make his processors come up with the words for it. "You're attractive. You were hurting. I wanted to teach you that it can be good."

Saltem trembled at that. "And now?"

"I hope you'll allow to me continue to be your lover," he said gently.

The younger mech relaxed, pressing closer. He could deal with that. He felt his lover relax too, relieved. 

Saltem kissed him softly, and allowed quiet to steal over them both.

* * *

Saltem was outside the fortified wall, repairing it. Dai Atlas must have been pleased with his behavior to have given him a job that left him outside the base and unsupervised. It was drudge work still, but he wasn't stuck in cramped areas, or down on his hands and knees scrubbing. 

It also left him plenty of time to think about how things had changed between himself and Fortis Bronte. Interfacing with him was nothing at all like any experience had previously, or what he thought interfacing was like. It was pleasure. Mutual, highly anticipated pleasure. The feel of a hot, slick valve around his spike was far beyond anything else, and even just the thought of it could cause a rise in his core temperature. And he could not deny how much Fortis Bronte enjoyed being penetrated. The sounds he made were highly arousing, once Saltem let go of his reservations.

He was still not ready to be touched in that way himself, and the older mech was willing to give him the time he needed to be ready to try more.

No matter how frustrating and angering it was to remember that he was a slave and the occasional mech that was entirely too nosy, he could no longer deny that this, his General and his lover and the attitude of the bulk of the unit, made this the best he'd had it in a very long time. He was beginning to hope that the General would keep him even after he was a soldier again.

His other duties were fulfilling in a way Saltem had never anticipated. Training Prowl to fight was a challenging and satisfying task. The Praxian was stunningly quick at learning and taking a lesson and applying it to the next situation. He didn't have instincts worthy of a petro-rabbit, but Saltem was willing to bet that in a couple more vorns Prowl would have learned enough to fake warrior instincts very well.

Of all those matches, the one he remembered most fondly was the time he'd pitted Prowl against a junior warrior designed to be light and fast, much as the Praxian was. Yakma was not a disciplined being, something that routinely drove the Praxian to frustration. This match, Prowl had finally won, and the feral grin that graced his features for a nanoklik was intensely rewarding for Saltem.

Prowl was doing so well that Dai Atlas had started him on drilling the younger members of the company. That was equally rewarding. They were making progress, individually and as a group. Working together as teams of warriors should.

And Saltem had lessons of his own. On the tactics and strategies used by large groups, and on the duties and behavior expected of officers. Prowl was handling much of those lessons, and seemed to enjoy teaching them as much as the enslaved mech enjoyed teaching him how to fight.

It was unusual how little he saw of his master anymore, now that he was staying in Fortis Bronte's quarters, but when he did see his master, Dai Atlas seemed to treat him like any other warrior in the unit. As long as Saltem did what was expected of him, the General let him be and gave him free time. It was a different. He liked it, especially that it meant he actually had time to spend with Fortis Bronte that wasn't in the berth or training.

Two entire day-night cycles had passed, nearly six and a half joors, before he'd completed the inspection and repairs and headed into the base.

He had just enough time to put away the tools and take a shower before his lover would get off-shift. It would be nice to be ready to greet his lover, and have the entire off-shift together. Things had been going so well, he really should have anticipated it going south.

The washrack section for larger frames was already busy with three of the larger airframes, leaving only one stall if Saltem wanted to be clean now.

He didn't like using the washracks at the same time as so many others, but his desire to be clean before his lover got off-shift overrode it. He took the remaining stall and quickly got to work trying to get rid of as much of the ever-present dirt as he could. He stayed quiet, only paying attention to the others in the most passive way, just to make sure none of them tried to sneak up on him. He was a good halfway done cleaning himself and just beginning to hope it would work when he felt one of them focus on him.

"Getting all pretty for your master?" one of the fliers trilled in a definite taunt.

"None of your business," Saltem rumbled curtly, hoping they would take the hint and drop it.

Nope. No such luck this orn.

"Oh but we think it is," another of the fliers grinned. "You're interfacing, after you spent so long convincing everyone you wouldn't."

"I fail to see how my personal life is your business," Saltem replied, trying to finish quickly so that he could get out of there. A strong hand landed on his shoulder to force him to face the three.

"It hardly matters if _you_ understand, _slave Saltem_ ," one smirked at him. "Only that we want to know."

"I need only obey my master, _Dai Atlas_ , and those he appoints. Not you," Saltem snarled as he wrenched himself away from the flier's touch.

"You're still military," the flier growled as he pushed Saltem against the wall. "You _are_ required to obey your superiors. We were just being friendly, but you had to go and make it a problem. So unless you're spreading your legs for the General, you won't be having any fun tonight."

"Don't touch me!" the enslaved mech snarled, dropping into a defensive stance. ::Sir, I'm having issues with some fliers in the washracks,:: he commed Dai Atlas, unable to keep the anger out of his voice. He included their IDs as an afterthought.

All three fliers suddenly stiffened, flicking glances at each other then at Saltem.

Without another word they left.

::It's good to know your self-control is improving,:: Dai Atlas replied, his tone somewhere between bemused and approving. ::Have a good evening with Fortis Bronte.::

Saltem trembled as the line was cut, leaning against the wall in what he refused to call relief. Rage still simmered in his fuel lines, but he pushed it away ruthlessly. He had no target for it, and would not in the near future. He did not want it ruining his evening with his lover.

Slowly he gathered himself enough to push himself away from the wall and finished cleaning up before turning off the shower and leaving. He was still on time to have a game of City War set out when Fortis Bronte got to their quarters.

He was just putting the last touches in place when he heard the door open, and he looked up to greet his lover with a smile, though he had to force it a touch. "Hello."

"Hello," Fortis Bronte smiled as the door closed behind him and walked up to his lover for a greeting kiss.

Saltem kissed him back and wrapped his arms around his lover. He began to tremble again, though he tried to suppress it.

"Something happened," Fortis Bronte drew away slightly to regard his lover more carefully.

"Mechs don't know how to mind their own business," the younger mech rumbled, tilting his helm down.

"No, they don't," he agreed, his hands moving along Saltem's plating in an effort to sooth before he cocked his helm. "We can spar, or I can show you another way to cool that fire."

"Another way?" Saltem asked curiously, tilting his helm.

"A good, hard interface often works," Fortis Bronte rumbled, his field expressing a willingness bordering on eagerness.

The enslaved mech hesitated, drawing back slightly. "I'll probably lose control. Don't want to hurt you..." His field rippled with interest, belying his tone.

"Losing control is the point," Fortis Bronte rumbled and he reached up to claim Saltem's mouth. His field extended, expressing his anticipation and lack of apprehension. "It's not always a bad thing to _take_ , so long as your lover is agreeable."

"And you won't be damaged?" His own field showed his desire, but was also tinged with worry.

"No," he promised. "You won't damage me."

Saltem loosened his grip on his control at that, kissing his lover hard. Arms wrapped tightly around the smaller mech, holding him as close as physically possible. The encouragement in Fortis Bronte's field, the way the smaller mech kiss back even as he went lax and compliant, drove Saltem's desire and arousal. The sound of his lover's valve cover sliding open penetrated his processors.

Saltem growled against his lover's mouth before pulling back enough to nip at his lips. His grip on the smaller mech shifted slightly, and then he was carrying him over to the wall. He pressed his lover tightly between himself and the wall, lifting one leg to help position Fortis Bronte's valve. Saltem released his spike, and buried it in his lover with a hard thrust.

The smaller mech moaned deeply, his slick, ready valve tightening around the thick intruder. "Oh yes. Harder," he gasped out, relishing this far more than even that first slide of Saltem's spike in his valve less than a metacycle before.

"You're _mine_ ," he growled, setting a hard and fast rhythm. His mouth came down hard on Fortis Bronte's again, glossa demanding entrance. It was granted readily, eagerly submissive and taking in all that was given.

Fortis Bronte shuddered and moaned, his valve sending jolts of intense pleasure into his neural net.

He brought his head down, biting at the smaller mech's neck. As the pleasure bloomed in his body, his grip on his aggression broke. He growled again as his thrusts became harder, growing more erratic as his emotions intensified.

Fortis Bronte gripped his lover's shoulders and tipped his helm back, offering his throat without fear. The rough handling was easy to take, something he was built for and had long ago learned to enjoy. Getting his lover to let go was intensely satisfying.

Saltem bit again as the charge raced along his circuits, building faster and faster. He roared as he overloaded, spike plunging hard and fast into the eager valve as transfluid exploded from the tip. His lover moaned and trembled against him, his frame stiffening with the second burst of charge-rich transfluid crashing against the node cluster at the top of his valve.

Saltem waited until his lover relaxed before pulling out of him and carrying him over to the berth. His field was still filled with need as he put Fortis Bronte on the berth. "On your knees," he growled.

With a rumble of anticipation Fortis Bronte complied, offering his aft and dripping valve to his lover. It felt impossibly good to have Saltem take charge like this, and Fortis Bronte hoped it wouldn't be just when he needed to calm down.

The smaller mech was barely in position when Saltem drove his spike in his lover's valve again, taking up a brutal, driving rhythm once more. Fortis Bronte moaned shamelessly, his valve rippling and squeezing as he gave just enough resistance to stay in place while remaining compliant. The larger mech growled as he continued his pounding assault, his hands gripping and pulling the older mech's hips back to meet every thrust. Fortis Bronte moaned and whined as the charge began to build again. Saltem _needed_ this, but Fortis Bronte _enjoyed_ it.

"Harder," Fortis Bronte gasped out, his frame trembling from the pounding as he dropped to his chest. It changed the angle and added the pull of gravity to each thrust. He was going to be sore in all the best ways. "Give me everything."

Saltem snarled wordlessly at that, but complied, his thrusts as hard and fast as he could make them. Pleasure spiraled through him, centering on his spike. He could feel it building from his lover as well. Sparks of electricity jumped from Fortis Bronte's valve to the spike pistoning into it.

The smaller mech arched and writhed, desperate for the building pleasure he could feel was so close. He knew this was worth all the effort. Saltem was glorious when he let go.

Saltem roared as overload crashed over him, thrusting desperately into his lover with each pulse of pleasure. It was all Fortis Bronte needed to drive him over the edge with a roar of his own. His valve tightened rhythmically around the thickness inside it as the charge that was crashing through them both echoed in the lubricated connection.

Saltem slumped forward as the charge abated, covering his lover and venting heavily as they sank down to lay flat. His spike was still hard and pulsing inside Fortis Bronte's valve and it felt good there, it always did. Yet he couldn't help but be a little troubled by how completely such a rough interface had cleared his processors and burned off the rage.

"That was amazing," Fortis Bronte eventually murmured.

Saltem murmured wordlessly in reply, nuzzling at whatever part of his lover was there. He carefully maneuvered them to lie on the berth, though he didn't remove his spike just yet. Fortis Bronte was in no hurry to move either, and more than willing to let his lover relax and sort out his processors.

"You...enjoyed that more?" Saltem finally asked, voice quiet.

"Than usual, yes," he relaxed under his lover. "You're unbelievably intense when you let go, and it's _good_."

"But... I wasn't able to pay enough attention to... to make sure you would..." He trembled, unable to finish the thought. His spike retracted into its housing and he shifted so that he was lying next to Fortis Bronte, rather than on top of him. His lover shifted to rest against him, stroking his chest plating to sooth him.

"I overloaded twice," Fortis Bronte reminded him. "I _enjoyed_ it. A good interface doesn't always require paying attention."

"But if you had not... I wouldn't have noticed..." He held his lover closer.

"You would have now," the smaller mech said with calm certainty.

"Would that have made up for it?"

Fortis Bronte cocked his helm and regarded his lover. "Given that I _enjoy_ it rough and intense as often as not, yes. Finishing my charge off would have made it a fair thing."

Saltem nodded, relaxing a bit. His field spoke of his unease at being able to so thoroughly dismiss his lover's pleasure in the moment, but that was fading at Fortis Bronte's reassurance that there was a way to make it even.


	8. Challenges

Two more challenging worlds fell and once more General Dai Atlas' unit was on a world with life but few challenges beyond the weather and muck that organic worlds inevitably created en masse. It was a comfortable routine for Saltem now, along with usually sharing Fortis Bronte's berth when their shifts matched enough.

As it was, this particular orn had gone well enough. His chores and other duties had been completed in a timely manner without any real mishaps. The washracks had been blissfully empty when he went in to use them, and he knew his lover had a matching off-shift right now. All in all, it left Saltem in a good mood as he entered the quarters that officially belonged to Fortis Bronte, but in practice were shared with the enslaved mech. Every night he shared with his lover was a night he silently thanked his master for allowing it. No matter how rarely Dai Atlas made a point of Saltem's status, it was still a blunt truth that Saltem only had his lover so often because his master permitted it.

Saltem gave the thanks in his processors and pushed it all way to set up one of their favorite games, City Wars, knowing that Fortis Bronte would be back soon from pounding new recruits into the dirt.

It was an enjoyable way for them both to unwind from their orn, often with their energon rations to drink while they played. It never ceased to amuse Saltem how much Prowl could approve of a game, but the Praxian had positively lit up in his own quiet way when he learned that Saltem spent more orns than not playing at least once against Fortis Bronte.

"Hey," Fortis Bronte greeted him warmly as he stepped inside with his ration in hand. "Glad your orn went well."

"Hello yourself," Saltem purred with equal warmth, stepping close to steal a quick kiss and caught a feel for his lover's field. It was off, but not seriously, and Saltem couldn't place exactly how. "How was yours?"

"Long, dull and repetitive," he chuckled, returning the affectionate kiss without passion. "I'm looking forward to a quiet evening."

"Doing what?" Saltem asked, is own field playful as he led his lover to the table where he had the game set up. There was a background note of arousal, something that had developed only through Fortis Bronte's work, but it was low enough that interfacing wasn't what the larger mech was thinking of that moment.

"A game, relaxing with you, and a solid recharge cycle," he answered easily as he relaxed in his chair and set his energon on the table next to the game.

The younger mech settled in his own chair, and waited for the other to make the first move of the game. "A massage to help you relax?" Saltem offered. "Or a _massage_?"

"A massage sounds nice," Fortis Bronte smiled at his lover and selected to play Kaon. "I don't really feel like interfacing."

Saltem's optics cycled in surprise, but he quickly smiled. "Then that's what we'll do," he accepted. He hadn't expected the other to not want to interface, but if he didn't want to then who was Saltem to try to force the issue? He was grateful that his lover had mentioned it before he had gotten worked up, though. That would have been uncomfortable.

"Good," Fortis Bronte relaxed a bit as the game began, the computer taking the cities that the players didn't. He considered his lover as Saltem made his move. "I'm not trying to make a double standard between us," he added evenly. "You can tell me no. I push harder because you needed to be convinced that it was good."

"And you're usually right about me needing the push," Saltem agreed quietly, reaching out to grasp Fortis Bronte's hand affectionately. Their fields mingled easily after the vorns, expressing the mutual understanding and acceptance.

"You're getting the hang of it, at least as much as we've tried."

"Thank you, for out-stubborning me," Saltem said quietly, fingers twining with his lover's the way their fields were.

Amusement flickered in Fortis Bronte's field. "With age comes some grasp of patience and tenacity youth never has." He paused. "Well, most youths."

"Prowl?" Saltem asked, amused.

"Who else?" he snorted. "That mech is messed up. I don't expect he'll have a long functioning, but he's what you get when a mecha puts _everything_ into their function to the exclusion of what makes existence worth sticking around for."

"I was putting everything into my function, before," Saltem said quietly. "He's... not so different than me."

"I know," Fortis Bronte sighed, a flicker of resigned failure in his field. "He's a _much_ more difficult mech to connect with. I think it comes from being a civilian first. He doesn't think like us. I doubt he ever will. He's going to be with us much longer than you will."

"Unless you can find the right person who _is_ able to connect with him," Saltem agreed.

"Even if we do he's got a longer way to go than you ever did and far less reason to do so," he said quietly, making a move somewhat absently. His spark was just not in the game, though he wanted to play. "He doesn't hate interfacing or socializing. He just doesn't have any use for it. He doesn't have the fighting drive most of us do either."

Fortis Bronte paused again and muttered. "I'm not sure why I'm fixating on him lately. I'm not someone who can help him."

"He will need someone who can convince him that it is worth his while," Saltem said. He gave his lover's hand a sympathetic squeeze as he made his own move.

"Very much so," he nodded as they focused on the game and allowing a comfortable silence to settle.

* * *

Fortis Bronte hummed quietly as he returned to his quarters after a long patrol. The three orn continental loop was enjoyable, but he was glad to be back on base, very glad to be clean again and looking forward to seeing his lover. Hopefully it was the right time to give Saltem another push.

His lover was waiting in their quarters, sitting on a chair with a datapad in his hand. He looked up and smiled as Fortis Bronte entered, setting the pad aside.

"How were your orns?" Fortis Bronte asked as he stepped close to claim a kiss, his field expressing his interest in an interface as clearly as any words.

"Not much unusual," Saltem replied after the kiss, his hands coming up to stroke his lover's back and pull him closer. A matching interest quickly rose in the younger mech's field. "Played a game of City Wars with Prowl one off-shift, but he's not as good of company as you."

"I'm not surprised," Fortis Bronte grinned as he slid onto Saltem's lap. "Think you're up for trying something new?"

"What do you have in mind?" the larger mech asked as he leaned in for a deeper, hotter kiss.

"Suck me off," he rumbled into the kiss.

Saltem hesitated and pulled back from the kiss as the words sunk in. "What?"

"I want to feel your mouth around my spike," he purred, his field expressing just how hot an idea he found it to be. "My back against the wall, your hands on my hips and your mouth, glossa and intake making me moan."

Saltem trembled as unpleasant memories rushed at him, trying to push them back as he clung to his lover. 

Fortis Bronte allowed him to deal with it and held him back. He was as opposite to those who demanded it as could be and they both knew it. Yet he also knew it wasn't an easy request.

"Please... help?" Saltem whimpered.

His lover leaned forward and kissed him gently. "Anything I can, just tell me."

"Don't know how... to get past..." Saltem confessed against Fortis Bronte's lips.

Fortis Bronte kissed him again with all the passion in his frame. "You don't have to start there," he suggested softly. "Start with exploring my frame, touch with your hands first. You're going to be in control. I promise."

Saltem kissed him back. "I'll try," he whispered, his hands going back to stroking along his lover's frame. He rested his helm against the older mech's neck as he gathered himself to move forward.

"That's all I ask," the elder mech murmured, stroking his lover and slipping fingers into armor seams in an effort to arouse. "All I ask is that you try to remember I'm not like them."

"Know you're nothing like them," was the reply as Saltem nuzzled at neck armor, fingers dipping into what armor seams he could to stroke at the wires and circuitry underneath.

"Good," he murmured as he shifted to catch Saltem's lips in a kiss. His systems were heating rapidly, as much in anticipation as from the stimulation.

The younger mech kissed him back, trying to lose himself in his lover's arousal. After several long moments, he pulled back enough to murmur. "Let's move to the berth."

Fortis Bronte nodded and shifted from Saltem's lap, offering his hand to his lover as he stepped towards the berth. Saltem took his hand, pressing close. He gently pushed his lover on the edge of the berth, kneeling in front of him and kissing him again, relishing the way Fortis Bronte melted into the contact and went willingly submissive. It made his processors spin at times, but it had made things easier so many times to feel that his lover wasn't making demands.

He began trailing kisses down the older mech's neck to his chest, his hands stroking up his thighs. Fortis Bronte moaned and arched into the contact, willingly spreading his legs and offering it all to his lover. Saltem let his mouth hover at his lover's chest as one hand stoked over Fortis Bronte's spike cover. It slid open immediately, but the spike remained housed. The younger mech nuzzled and kissed the armor seam running down the center of his chest. One large hand swirled around the tip of the spike, trying to coax it out. The other hand dipped into Fortis Bronte's hip joint, stroking it.

With a deep moan Fortis Bronte looked down, watching intently as his spike slid from the housing and into the waiting fingers. His field encouraged, expressing the pleasure and desire Fortis Bronte felt. Saltem let his forehelm rest against his lover's chestplates, over his spark, as he squeezed and stroked the spike in his hand. 

Touching him like this wasn't bad. In fact, he enjoyed the noises he could get the older mech to make, and the pleasure in his field. This time was no different, and Fortis Bronte was free with his pleasure and letting Saltem know exactly how good it felt. Just as he promised, he wasn't pressuring for more. There was only the silent encouragement for it and the vocal encouragement for anything Saltem was up for doing.

A full frame shudder passed though Fortis Bronte as he leaned back on his hands to keep from insisting on more too strongly. That movement gave Saltem more of an optic-full of the spike he was stroking. He leaned in closer, but then hesitated at the last moment.

"Please," Fortis Bronte moaned, his voice quivered and field flaring hotly with desire.

Saltem shivered in lust-fear, pushing back memories that threatened to overwhelm his vision. He needed to do this, to conquer the darker parts of his processor. He closed his optics and let his helm dropped down slightly, brushing his lips along the side of the top half of his lover's spike, still stroking and squeezing the base with his hand.

"Sal..." Fortis Bronte quivered, his vents stuttering slightly and voice thick with desire as his optics remained focused on his spike and the attention being given to it. His field flared again with encouragement and pleasure entwined with the lust the vision was producing.

The larger mech let his mouth open, glossa coming out to stroke along the spike, tasting and exploring. It _tasted_ of Fortis Bronte, a scent that had long been associated with safe pleasure. The flares of lustful pleasure in the field entwined with his had that same familiarity from interfacing that had always been good, and the _sounds_ ... oh Primus the _sounds_ he was drawing from his lover

It was enough to bolster his courage and he let his lips wrap around the head of the spike, glossa swirling around the tip. His hand continued to stroke the base as he slowly took more and more in his mouth.

The sound that escaped Fortis Bronte might have been his lover's designation, but it was difficult to tell. His entire frame arched, seeking more of that welcome contact. He didn't care that his hips were being held in place by the fingers deep in the joint. It felt _so good_. He'd wanted his spike inside Saltem for so long it was intense to finally feel the lips around him and the glossa exploring.

Expected memories were pushed further back as Saltem continued to work his lover's spike with hand and mouth, trying to find what caused the best responses. When he lowered his helm with his glossa curled around his lover's spike the rush of _pleasure-arousal_ from Fortis Bronte was enough to startle him. He pulled back some in order to be able to glance up at his lover's blissful expression before letting his helm drop again, drawing another deep moan.

Fortis Bronte's fingers curled against the berth as his internal temperature spiked along with the charge that was rapidly building. It felt good, but it was the sight and long wait that made this touch so special. He put as much as he could into recording the details for later enjoyment and the rest into enjoying the moment.

The touch and movement of Saltem's mouth and glossa over his spike was in no way skilled, but the fear-hesitation was fading from his field and was being replaced arousal of his own. Spurred on by the pleasure he could hear and feel in the older mech, his movements began to speed up.

"Yesss," Fortis Bronte hissed into a moan. His charge was beginning to crackle across his plating and along his spike, sending tingling jolts into Saltem's mouth.

The younger mech continued to work the spike in his mouth, the fingers still buried in his lover's hip joint flexing, trying to send him over the edge. He could feel the charge building, had felt his lover overload enough times to know it was close even before Fortis Bronte gasped out a warning.

Saltem pulled back, his helm tilting to watch his lover's face in overload as he continued to stroke with his hand. Deep red optics flared and Fortis Bronte's features twisted in the blissful pain of a welcome overload. In Saltem's hand the spike crackled as hot transfluid spurted onto it, under his chin and up to Fortis Bronte's abdominal plates.

Saltem rose up to claim his lover's mouth in a kiss as the overload dissipated. Fortis Bronte moaned into the kiss and slid back, trying to draw his lover on top of him as he spread his legs and slid his valve cover open in welcome, desire and offer.

"Fill me," the smaller mech whispered, his field giving no doubt that he genuinely wanted it.

Saltem groaned against his lover's mouth as he covered him with his frame. His cover opened automatically, spike pressurizing between them. The younger mech started to slowly sink into Fortis Bronte, his glossa mimicking the action in his lover's mouth. Both penetrations were welcome, their entwined fields sharing Fortis Bronte's pleasure with Saltem at an act that Saltem still couldn't come close to contemplating accepting.

Sharing it, being the penetrator, Saltem had learned that it could be very good and could be an act that both could enjoy. He kept the motions of his hips slow, drawing out the sensations. It was a bit selfish of him to keep it slow, gentle, but he needed the reassurance it gave after what he had done and his lover gave no objection.

The kiss was passionate, encouraging, as Fortis Bronte's hips smoothly rolled up into the slow thrusts.

Saltem returned it just as passionately, relishing the feel of his lover's mouth and valve as they moved together in waves, pleasure slowly rising between them. It was the kind of pleasure that required caring for one's partner, and their experience. It was not something Saltem thought would ever be part of his existence, but he thanked Primus every time he was with Fortis Bronte that he'd been wrong.

Fortis Bronte squeezed and rippled his valve, moaning into Saltem's mouth. On a good orn he'd sometimes overload first and drive Saltem over the edge, but with his systems still reeling from the first overload it wouldn't be this time. Yet he still relished the way the larger mech moved, stroking in and out with a steady thrusting of his hips.

The larger mech braced himself with one arm, the other stroking hot spots on his lover's body that had become familiar to him over the vorns. He kept up the steady tempo, even as he finally started getting close to the edge. Fortis Bronte felt the change and responded in kind, his hips moving in tandem, each thrust met, each move welcomed with a moan of encouraging and his own pleasure.

It was such a change from the first time he'd felt that spike inside him, a change even from the first time he'd convinced Saltem to be on top like this, and he relished it as much as the physical pleasure.

It wasn't long before Saltem was falling over the edge, crying out into his lover's mouth with each burst of transfluid, his hips not stopping in their motion. That first burst primed Fortis Bronte's systems, making the second burst enough to send him into an unresisting overload. His valve rippled and squeezed, milking the spike driving into him for each burst of pleasure-inducing transfluid until they both came down.

"Thank you," Saltem mumbled thickly, nuzzling his lover tenderly as they lay in post-overload bliss.

"Welcome," Fortis Bronte murmured in reply, turning his face for a lazy kiss. "You've worked hard for what you have."

"Wouldn't have, if not for you," Saltem admitted, kissing him affectionately.

* * *

A couple of orns had passed since Titanium's unit had arrived. For the most part the new mechs had joined the normal duty rotations, working alongside Dai Atlas' forces. In their off-duty time there was some mild chaos as troops that had been cooped up in a ship for too long enjoyed being planetside.

Titanium himself had spent quite a bit of his time with Dai Atlas, but this orn the General had duties to attend to, so the elder mech had some time to himself. He had been watching Saltem from a distance, evaluating the enslaved mech in his own way. Spotting an opportunity, he casually walked over to the smaller mech. "Saltem."

Saltem glanced up and came out of his training forms. "Sir."

The much older mech tilted his helm to the side. "I have heard that you have sparred with my student, and Dai speaks highly of your skills. I would like the opportunity to spar with you myself, to evaluate your skills on my own."

"Alright," Saltem agreed. "Limits?"

"Hand-to-hand only, no maiming, no major damage," Titanium listed off. "Nothing that will send the medics into raving fits. Dents and bent armor are fine, though."

"That is acceptable," the smaller mech replied, dropping into a ready stance.

A flick of a long wing brought over one of Titanium's troops, that strange beast-alt mech with the crystal viper for a tail. The older warrior removed the swords he carried across his back, handing them to the smaller mech to hold, then settling into his own ready position. For a moment he was perfectly still, watching Saltem intently. The next moment he was moving.

And Saltem was moving as well, the first blows and dodges testing. Seeing response times, testing for weak points.

For all his age, the old triple changer was fast, with that same flier-agility Saltem had seen in Dai Atlas. Titanium circled Saltem briefly, then came in again, aiming high but coming in low at the last moment.

Saltem was quick himself for his size, jumping to the side and tumbling to avoid the larger mech.

How the larger mech kept from overbalancing as he changed direction was some involved move that involved one leg and a wing but was otherwise too fast to catch. He sprang after Saltem, aiming to catch hold of the nearest bit of the other mech's frame.

A crowd was starting to assemble, maintaining a distance but watching with interest. Most of Dai Atlas' unit had seen Titanium sparring before, and those who hadn't were eager to see what their comrades had been going on about. The betting on the victor was quick to begin.

The younger mech was quick to avoid capture, staying in motion and trying to stay below his opponent's center of balance.

Grinning, Titanium feinted in one direction, digging one toeplate into the ground and launching himself at his opponent. The sudden burst of speed allowed him to catch Saltem by the arm and yank him off-balance. The old mech took one step forward, catching Saltem's hip with the other hand and pivoting, sending the younger mech helm-over-pedes across the ground.

Saltem yelped as he tumbled to absorb the excess energy, and when he rose to his pedes once more, he was covered in mud. He roared as he charged back at the older mech, intent on avenging himself.

There was a groan in unison from the watching crowd. One real mud hole on the whole sparring field and Titanium had managed to find it. Other mecha, hearing the groan, came over to watch.

Titanium laughed out loud, springing forward and tackling Saltem in mid-lunge, the triple changer's greater mass throwing the smaller mech backward and driving both of them into the mud. There was a loud "splat" as both of them landed, the closest watchers skittering backward to avoid getting spattered by flying mud.

Saltem growled, thrashing, displeased at being covered in so much mud.

Titanium, on the other hand, was entirely amused about the mud. He was grinning hugely as he grappled with Saltem, taking every opportunity to flip the smaller mech back into the worst of the mudhole. Long wings were raked high and wide, clearly indicating just how much the old warrior was enjoying this.

Saltem got more and more annoyed at it, struggling to keep moving as mud started gunking up his joints.

Glittering red optics met Saltem's as Titanium did his best to keep the younger mech from escaping. Every attempt ended with Saltem being flicked back into the mud, the older mech pouncing on him in a distinctly playful manner.

"Argh!" Saltem cried out. "Enough with the mud!"

A deep chuckle answered him. Somehow Titanium had gotten Saltem down flat on his back, pinning him there with one knee on his chest. "I'm quite enjoying this, actually."

Saltem gave him a dirty look. "This is going to be horrible to try to wash off," he replied.

"This is one of the things I usually recruit someone else to help me with," Titanium replied with a grin, glancing up as Axe made his way through the crowd.

"What is it with you and mud?" the black and gold mech asked, shaking his helm.

Axe missed the wicked, mischievous grin that crossed the old mech's faceplate, but Saltem didn't. Titanium shifted, though he didn't take his knee off his opponent's chest. Scooping up a handful of mud, he threw it right at Axe, nailing the other mech right in the helm.

Saltem scowled as he watched, unable to get up with the giant kneeling on him.

Axe just stared at Titanium for a moment. "Did you just..."

The wicked grin on Titanium's features widened. "Yup, I did. And what are you going to do about it?"

The gathered crowd looked from Axe to Titanium and back for a long moment. Then Axe pounced, landing on the older triple changer and knocking him backward off Saltem. Mud flew as the two grappled and flailed.

Saltem was quick to scramble out of the way, joining the onlookers watching the two experienced mechs.

This had absolutely nothing to do with sparring. This, apparently, had more to do with seeing who could get who more covered in brown glop. The two were playing like a couple of oversized younglings. Mud was flying in all directions.

It took a couple of breems for one of the two to concede defeat, though no one could be sure which one. Both mechs were so completely covered in mud that none of their paint could be seen. Axe was flat on his front in the mud, Titanium leaning back on his palms with his legs stretched out in front of him.

"That was _fun_ ," the older of the pair finally announced, picking himself up.

Saltem snorted at that declaration, wondering how two officers could behave in such a juvenile manner.

"I see Loopy got to you," Fortis Bronte chuckled as he walked up to his mud-drenched lover.

"'Loopy'?" Saltem asked him, raising an optic ridge.

"Titanium's nic," he chuckled as the two mud-covered giants got up and started to grab mecha to help clean them up. "He gets loopy under painkillers. Come on, let's get the mud off you."

"Please," the younger mech groaned, reminded of his state. "It's already mucking with my joints." He followed his lover off, towards the washracks.


	9. On Patrol

Saltem and Fortis Bronte were quiet as they moved through the low, largely purple foliage of a new world, easily moving between the handful of taller trees in the area. Dai Atlas must have noticed how frayed the younger mech's nerves were getting on the ship heading here, for as soon as he could be spared from construction, the General had sent the two out on a long-range patrol.

The enslaved mech enjoyed being out here, alone with his lover. They worked together just as well doing business as they did for pleasure, though Saltem was sure that had more to do with Fortis Bronte's understanding of him than the other way around. He prided himself on how much he did know about his lover, but Fortis Bronte seemed to have an ability to _know_ that Saltem knew he didn't possess.

They both liked this world more than the last, even if the wildlife was noticeably more dangerous. They'd already encountered a dozen species that were a threat on mass alone, one of which was aggressive and predatory. The up side was that nothing indicated even clever animals, much less sentience. It made the entire process of mapping and claiming the world so much simpler.

Saltem was feeling relaxed, even happy, as they wrapped up their second orn's patrol. ::Check out the clearing up ahead for camp?:: he commed the other mech.

::Sounds good,:: he agreed easily. It was time for energon and set up the camp security so they could recharge well. Some teams just stood watch or counted on their personal proximity sensors, but Fortis Bronte liked to be more sure, especially with creatures that could genuinely _hurt_ them just by stepping on them. Plus it meant that he could recharge with his lover, and he liked that.

Saltem was hit with a sudden wave of arousal as he watched Fortis Bronte transform, but he squashed it down for the moment. They needed to get everything set up before he could act on it... He could plot while he worked, though. A couple metacycles before he had asked his lover about his thoughts on surprise interfacing. Saltem had wanted to be sure that it would be something Fortis Bronte would enjoy before trying it. However, he hadn't had a chance to actually surprise him since then...

Now would be a good time, though.

His processors kept up that trail of thought, and how his lover's voice would sound out in the open, as they made short work of setting up the sensors to warn them in time to move if any of the big critters came along.

He smirked as he finished the last one, moving back towards camp silently, making sure his lover was already there and done with his own sensors.

He strode purposefully into the clearing, easily spotting Fortis Bronte. He didn't give his lover time to react before he pounced on the mech, pinning him to the ground. "Open," was the purred demand, letting lust fill his field.

Fortis Bronte shivered and relaxed into submission as his valve cover slid open, willingly offering himself to his lover without reservation. Saltem thrust into the fairly dry valve, capturing his mouth in a hard kiss that was returned with willing submission and a flare of arousal that left no doubt as to the genuine nature of the response.

Despite his submission, Fortis Bronte moved into the thrusting, rocking his hips and squeezing his valve around the thick spike he enjoyed so much. His mouth was plundered with a glossa that matched the rhythm of their hips, hard and fast into the now-slick passage.

Saltem growled as he dug his hands into hotspots. It had been far too long since they'd had the proper privacy to interface, and all of that pent-up need was pouring into the motion of frame on frame. He wanted to push his lover up that mountain of pleasure and over the peak hard and fast, like he knew Fortis Bronte enjoyed.

His lover moaned, submission breaking every few thrusts in the building heat of _need_. Around them foliage began to wilt and smolder as the inferno of their frames evaporated the water inside.

"So good," Saltem rumbled into his audio, increasing his pace and power. "So close..."

"Ohhh, give it to me Ultra Magnus," Fortis Bronte moaned shamelessly. His fingers dug in under armor as his valve worked the spike delivering so much pleasure. "Want your pleasure."

Saltem groaned, pleasure spiking at the use of his original designation, then roared as overload crashed through him. Hot bursts of fluid flooded the valve squeezing him as he tried to thrust as deeply as he could. He managed to maintain enough awareness to feel his lover's overload, their roars frightening animals for miles around as they clung to each other and rode out the crackling bliss.

Saltem's hips slowed and gentled as they came down off of that high, kissing his lover deeply, possessively, but no less gentle than the rest of him was at that moment. It was all welcomed by his lover as they relax into the tingling afterglow of their frames.

"It's been too long," Fortis Bronte murmured into a softer kiss.

"It has," Saltem agreed. His hips finally stilled, spike buried to the hilt in the valve that felt so much like where it belonged. He nipped at his lover's lower lip before sprinkling kisses over faceplates. "Were you hurt, from the lack of prep?"

"No," he promised, tipping his face up for a kiss and ignoring the warm hiss and crackle of the small brush fire they'd generated around them. "Not hurt at all."

"Good," the larger mech rumbled in a voice full of promise. One hand stroked along his thigh to just behind his knee, pulling that leg up as his hips ground into Fortis Bronte's once more.

"Oh _yes_!" Fortis Bronte shivered in anticipation and pleasure as he squeezed his valve tight around his lover's spike.

"Would you rather be folded in on yourself, unable to resist as I have my way with you?" continued the purring voice as he copied the motion with the other leg, unable to resist thrusting into that valve. "Or would you rather me mount you from behind, to bury myself as deeply in you as our frames will allow?"

"Fold me," Fortis Bronte trembled, his field surging with desire at both suggestions.

"Good choice," Saltem rumbled, kissing him hotly before pulling back so the could hook his lover's pedes over his shoulders before starting a pressing rhythm. He leaned forwards, putting Fortis Bronte's knees as close to the mech's chest as he could get. It made them both moan at the very new way their sensors were being stimulated.

"You ... need ... to make ... suggestions more often," Fortis Bronte quivered at the way his frame and processors responded to the unusual form of immobility.

"Oh... yeeeessss..." Saltem hissed, starting to speed up as pleasure flared between them. Unable to reach his lover's mouth, he turned his helm to the side to start mouthing the pede there instead.

Fortis Bronte nearly screamed in pleasure as sensors that _never_ saw attention like that fired wildly.

Saltem growled at the pleasure that ricocheted through their fields, licking and nipping the pede as he thrust harder and faster into his lover. He was nearly caught off guard when Fortis Bronte's entire frame attempted to arch despite the inability to do. Energy crackled wildly across brown plating and directly into Saltem's spike across the highly conductive lubricant and transfluid mix.

The larger mech groaned in pleasure, pounding into the frame under him as his lover's pleasure rattled through him. He loved the feeling of power he got from driving his lover wild with pleasure like this. He let his glossa wiggle into a joint in the pede, one hand coming up to stroke and tease the pede on his other shoulder.

Fortis Bronte roared as his overload hit an even higher peak, helpless in the grip of his lover and enjoying every nanoklik.

Saltem was only a klik after him, roaring his own overload. It was several long moments before their frames began to relax, the younger mech letting his lover's legs slide down to his waist.

"...Never thought you'd react like that to having your pedes touched," Saltem teased playfully, though his vents were still working heavily.

"Never though I would either," Fortis Bronte shivered as a last lingering jolt of pleasure caressed his neural net.

"Will definitely have to do that again," Saltem murmured, leaning in to nuzzle him. He shifted them into a more comfortable position, though his spike remained in his lover's valve.


	10. After a Long Orn

Saltem let out a groan as he sank into one of the chairs in Fortis Bronte's new quarters. A new world, a new base to build... This was their first off-cycle that they could enjoy in private, rather than out with the rest of the crew. The enslaved mech was tired, both from the heavy physical labor and from the poor recharge cycles crammed in with everyone. It felt good to be alone with just his lover, and from Fortis Bronte's field as he sank down on the second chair, the smaller mech was in much the same state.

"I swear it takes longer to build a base with each new world," Fortis Bronte groaned as he took a long drink of his ration. "I'm getting too old for this job."

"And new idiots wanting to slack off doesn't make it any easier," Saltem agreed, reaching for his own drink. They consumed their energon in companionable silence. 

"...Want to rub out this tension?" the younger mech asked.

"In more ways than one," he smiled and finished his ration before standing. "Lay down, lover."

Saltem smiled back and did as his lover bid, moving over to and stretching out on the berth. He enjoyed touching and being touched by Fortis Bronte, for whatever reason. Now the weight of Fortis Bronte over his hips was a welcome thing, not a cause for tension. He knew where his lover was going to touch just by how that weight shifted.

Strong fingers began just above his hip joints, working under thick armor to tease tension and abused cables into relaxing. Saltem let out a moan, places on his frame that hadn't been touched yet relaxing as well at the thought of receiving the older mech's touch. A touch that was moving systematically up his frame as arousal and intent began to creep into Fortis Bronte's field.

Saltem pressed into the touch, moaning, optics offlining to better enjoy what his lover was doing to him. It felt _so_ good. The touch, the warmth, the desire that he knew was for him, not just to have power over his frame. He'd never forgotten what it was like to be used, he never would, but he would be forever grateful to the mech with him right now for taking the time to teach him what interfacing could be.

As Fortis Bronte's hands reached Saltem's neck to work on the mass of cables there he leaned forward to kiss his lover's neck as well. "Willing to let me choose tonight?"

"Yeeess," Saltem replied, tilting his helm to give Fortis Bronte more room. His own hands came up, stroking along the seams in the smaller mech's sides to give back at least a fraction of what he was receiving. He _trusted_ Fortis Bronte, that anything the older mech had in mind would bring nothing but pleasure.

"Good," Fortis Bronte's trilling purr came with a distinct shift in his touch to one meant to arouse. "It's been too long."

"Far too long," Saltem agreed. His body began to tremble as arousal built, arousal only this mech had ever been able to inspire. Slowly hands, lips and glossa began to move down his frame, igniting a trail of fire down his backstrut.

He arched into the touch, anticipation running through his field. Anticipation of the next touch, of what Fortis Bronte would want to do.

"I'm glad you pissed off that judge so many vorns ago," Fortis Bronte rumbled as his glossa trailed over Saltem's aft until it circled lightly over the valve cover that had yet to be opened for him.

"Oh?" Saltem asked before he gasped, hips rocking up in surprised pleasure.

"If you hadn't, you wouldn't have come to this unit, to me," he purred, circling his glossa around the panel again.

"Glad to have met you," was the moaned replied. Without even thinking of what his body was doing, the younger mech's valve cover snapped open.

Fortis Bronte purred and trailed his glossa around the rarely touched platelets, gently stimulating them while his hands worked into Saltem's hip joints.

The younger mech cried out at the first touch, pressing into it. "Fooortiiiis," he moaned, unable to truly process what his lover was doing to him.

"I'm going to make it good for you," he promised softly, his engine rumbling as he continued to stimulate the sensitive platelets, more than willing to be patient until Saltem was as slick and aroused as possible. Slowly, lubricant began to flow from long-unused openings in the valve. Saltem's thighs trembled on either side of Fortis Bronte as arousal coursed through his frame. There was no hesitation this time, no learned fear of what the older mech would do to him.

Gently that glossa pressed a little further in to caress the entrance, then swirled as it entered a space that had never known willing pleasure, if it had known pleasure at all. Each touch caused another gasp, caused another jolt of Saltem's field against his. There was another wash of lubricant as the valve trembled from the touch.

Fortis Bronte worked his glossa as deeply as he could into his lover's valve, licking at the walls studded with sensors, rubbing them with the lubricant. With all his patience he kept his face down and glossa working. He'd worked towards this for so long, he wasn't going to mess anything up.

Saltem moaned and writhed from the touches, pleasure and arousal filling his field. His hands grabbed the berth instinctively, already beyond coherent thought. As it was, slowly the protocols from the valve reactivated, sending more and more lubricant in response to the stimulation. This experience brought back wonderful memories of every other time he'd trusted Fortis Bronte, the pleasures the older mech introduced him to, and this became one more of them.

Only when Saltem was slick and shaking from the building charge did Fortis Bronte allow his spike to pressurize. With his hands on his lover's hips, he slowly sank into that slick, hot, rippling tightness with a trembling moan of his own.

The younger mech's mouth dropped open at the sensation, the pleasured moan silent from the exquisite sensation of a desired lover's spike pressing in, spreading him, hitting each of the sensors as it reached them.

"You feel so good," Fortis Bronte gasped, his frame trembling in pleasure as he stilled, his spike as deep as it could go before he slowly pulled back.

The reply was another moan as Saltem's legs spread wider and his hands reached up to clutch his lover close. The pleasure was intense, leaving the mech helpless to the sensations as he was spread wide once more, filled and charged with pleasure he didn't believe was possible.

Fortis Bronte nudged their hips higher before pulling back and thrusting forward with a touch more speed. "Ultra Magnus...." he groaned as, trying to push his lover over the edge.

Saltem cried out as his lover said his designation, overload hitting him hard. Every cable in his body clenched, holding tight to the mech above him as he was lost in pleasure beyond comprehension.

As he came down he became aware that the pleasure was building once more; his lover wasn't finished, or finished with him.

"Fortiiiis," he moaned, hands digging into the berth under him as his lover began to pound into him, every move sending blasts of intense heat and energy into his systems. It was just as overwhelming as before, and was building quicker this second time. He was helpless against the tide of pleasure sweeping him. He was close to howling when he felt his lover overload and the first rush of charge-heavy transfluid splashing against the thick cluster of nodes at the top of his valve and sticking there even as more and more came.

The new sensation washed over him, throwing him into a second overload. He did howl as his valve clenched around the invading spike, milking it and holding it while they lost themselves in the bliss that they'd worked hard to earn.

With a shudder as the overload faded and allowed his frame to relax, Fortis Bronte slumped on top of his mate, unable to even keep their hips together and completely spent.

Saltem trembled underneath him, processor overwhelmed with how strong his reaction had been to the stimulation. He felt Fortis Bronte slide to the side, in little better condition for a moment.

Then a hand reached out to stroke his back. "You okay?"

Saltem rolled and clung to his lover, trembling still as he buried his face in Fortis Bronte's neck. His field showed that he wasn't upset or afraid, but he definitely needed an anchor to pull himself back together. It a role that Fortis Bronte was more than willing to provide as he held his lover and waited for him to calm down and come back to reality.

It was almost a breem later when the trembling stilled, and Saltem nuzzled his lover's neck. "Thank you," he murmured softly.

"Welcome," Fortis Bronte smiled in reply. "You worked hard to get here."

"Wouldn't have, without you," Saltem admitted. "You showed me that it was worth it."

"It was my pleasure," the smaller mech smiled and kissed him softly.

Saltem nuzzled him after the kiss ended, pressing close against the frame and field that spoke of safety and pleasure to him. "Is it always that...intense?"

"No, but like a spike overload, it's always intense," Fortis Bronte smiled.

The younger mech hummed in understanding, getting comfortably entwined. His field evened out as he slipped into recharge, contentment at the forefront. Less than a klik later his lover joined him in the rest they both needed.


	11. Reality Check

Fortis Bronte lay next to his lover, both of them sated and relaxed, though the smaller mech was having difficulty keeping his unease to himself.

Saltem looked at him curiously, one hand stroking his back. "What is it?"

Armor plates shifted as he pressed into the touch, welcoming it. "You've made a lot of progress. More than is strictly required, I expect."

Saltem's brow furrowed. "More than is required?"

Fortis Bronte shifted to look at him, his expression serious. "The General is still training you, but that's ... well, probably as much for Prowl as you. You've gotten closer to that Praxian than anyone else." A deep sigh gusted from his vents. "You'll probably be shipped back to a regular unit soon ... with all that means."

Saltem frowned, his hand still idly stroking his lover's back. "Have I changed that much?" He didn't think he had. His control of his temper was still as thin as a silicon wafer. The only thing that kept him from losing it more often was how much more disciplined Dai Atlas' company was compared to others in the army. That and how brutally methodical the General was when punishing an infraction.

"Twenty vorns ago you couldn't even contemplate enjoying an overload," Fortis Bronte reminded him quietly. "Tonight you _offered_ your valve because you wanted it. That's a big change in how you think."

"But I was sent here because of my temper, not because I wouldn't interface," he replied.

"That's ... not what I heard," he said uneasily. "Your temper was because of your interface issues more than a lack of self control. And ... the one thing I haven't seen change is how you relate to it with anyone else. I'm still trying to understand that part of your processors."

 _And I don't like what I know._ was silent, but painfully clear.

"Don't like to be used, treated as nothing more than a drone.... A vessel for another's pleasure... as if I had no opinion on the matter at all," Saltem said softly, haltingly. "Don't like others knowing ... gossiping at the top of their voices."

"But _everyone_ is used like that," Fortis Bronte frowned, genuinely not understanding his lover's problem. "Even the General has those he has to submit to. Only the Prime is above all."

"Why?" Saltem asked. "One's interfacing ability or who they're interfacing has no impact on the battlefield."

"The army doesn't exist only on the battlefield," he reminded his lover. "Right or wrong, you have to learn how to cope with it if you're going to survive."

Saltem didn't reply to that, _couldn't_ reply. From anyone else, he would have gone into a rage at those words. But this was his lover, a mech who had earned his trust. A mech who'd never lied to him. A mech that was _worried_ for him, because of this dichotomy between army society and Saltem's deep-set beliefs.

A low x-vent escaped Fortis Bronte. "Try to recharge, and try to think about it. Even if you buy your contract, it takes time you won't have here."

Saltem held tight to his lover, burying his face in the other mech's neck. He tried to block out the rest of the world, but that was not so easy this time.

* * *

"How about a threesome?" Fortis Bronte tossed out randomly over their evening game and energon a few orns later.

Saltem's hand froze as he was bringing up his cube, and slowly lowered it back to the table. They had never mentioned being with others... Not that he had wanted to know who else his lover was with. 

On the other hand, he needed to be able to make connections with others in the army, and this would be a safer way to do that.

"Who were you thinking of?" Saltem asked hesitantly.

"Not anyone specific," he acknowledged even as he suppressed his surprise that the idea hadn't been instantly shot down. "But it would be good for you to have a good time with someone other than me, and it seemed a place to start. Unless you have been with others, that you liked."

"You are the only person I have been with that I _wanted_ to be with," Saltem said softly, looking down. A strong brown hand covered his.

"Hopefully, we can change that before you're reassigned," Fortis Bronte said rather gently. "It's not healthy to get too attached to anyone. I know who can keep their vocalizer muted when it counts and isn't too rough."

"That would be good," Saltem agreed, turning his hand over so their palms touched. "Know you won't pick someone wrong." He trusted his lover would know who would respect Saltem's desire for privacy.

"So ... Dai Atlas?" he suggested.

Saltem shook his head. "I... can't. Not right now, with the slave programming."

"Even if he orders it off for the night?" he asked, trying to get a feel for if it was the only reason.

"Even if he orders it off, it will still be there, in the background..." Saltem trembled at that.

"Relax," Fortis Bronte squeezed his hand. "That would take Prowl and Axe out too. Has anyone caught your optic as attractive?"

The younger mech shrugged. "I haven't been looking at others with an optic for that..." He thought a moment. "Generally, smaller than me is more attractive." He gave Fortis Bronte a bit of a smile. "Which is most everyone here."

"We don't get many larger-than-convoy class mecha out this way," he laughed easily. "Smaller, but big enough you don't have to be careful. What about Springer?"

Saltem pulled up what he remembered of the mech. "He stopped gossiping around me when he noticed it bothered me," he admitted, appreciation coloring his field.

A small smile crossed Fortis Bronte's features. "He's a good mech, really, and he knows how not to blab. He just has to be told to keep his trap shut."

"Then we can try with him," Saltem smiled back.

* * *

Saltem sat in Fortis Bronte's quarters, trying not to fidget as they waited for Springer to show. He was nervous at adding anything new to their interfacing, but he agreed with the older mech. He needed to do this. And Fortis Bronte had made sure that every new experience was good and safe. He would make sure this would be no different.

"Relax," his lover crooned before slipping into Saltem's lap to distract him with a kiss. "He'll come, and it'll be good."

"I know," the larger mech replied, kissing him back. Trust in his lover was in his field. It didn't stop the nerves, but they were pushed further back as they kissed. Knowing, skilled hands slid across Saltem's frame, dipping into seams to tease at wiring and cogs. The field woven with his spoke of arousal and desire, such familiar sensations with this mech that they were easy to respond to without concern.

They heard the door slid open, a couple pedesteps and then close and lock, but the large mech that had walked in said nothing.

Saltem tensed slightly at the addition, but then forced himself to relax again. The new presence was no intruder, but an invited participant. The enslaved mech deepened the kiss with Fortis Bronte, glossa seeking entrance. It was granted without hesitation, and the third engine in the room rumbled up a notch. It sounded so different from his and Fortis Bronte's, far more powerful and of a different design.

Fortis Bronte's hands moved along him, enticing as much as arousing. It wasn't that different from the first time they'd been together, only this time the trust was far deeper.

That familiarity reassured Saltem, and he growled into his lover's mouth, fingers finding hot spots in the seams along the smaller mech's sides. Their core temperatures rose as the tingle of a welcome charge began to skitter across their circuits. A light touch under Saltem's chin sought to draw his face up, and he allowed the kiss to transfer to Springer's mouth. This was his first test.

The contact was light, but hot. There was no doubting that the triple changer was turned on by what he'd seen and what he was feeling. Against his throat, Fortis Bronte's lips were a searing enticement, the light nip and sucking a promise of the pleasures to come.

Saltem moaned into the kiss, one hand leaving familiar territory to reach out and pull the green mech closer. This was good so far, and he began to press into the dual touch. Strong black hands moved along his shoulders, exploring with a touch that spoke of experience despite Springer's youth.

"Mmm, so have you two sorted out who's on top?" Springer rumbled, his grin eager in a way that Fortis Bronte rarely managed.

"Didn't talk about it," Saltem said, hand exploring Springer's frame. The mixture of helo and car was different, but it pressed into Saltem's touch just as willingly.

"I was thinking of Sal in the middle and you on top," Fortis Bronte rumbled against Saltem's neck. "I do enjoy his spike."

The larger mech trembled at the thought, in both apprehension and anticipation. "Yes." He tried to capture Springer's mouth again for another kiss and was eagerly greeted as Springer's engine gave a roar of approval.

Fortis Bronte shifted smoothly out of Saltem's lap and drew his lover towards the berth by one hand.

"Good," Springer rumbled as he followed, willing to give the couple a moment to arrange themselves before kneeling on the large berth behind Saltem and running his hands along the larger mech's hips.

Saltem pressed down on Fortis Bronte, kissing him hotly. He stroked powerful thighs, up to the older mech's valve cover. His own interface covers opened, spike pressurizing between himself and Fortis Bronte. His lover eagerly opened his valve cover and spread his legs, kissing back for all he was worth. It was erotic to think about this, more so to be here, and far hotter to contemplate getting to watch Saltem with another mech.

Their mutual moan resonated in the room when Saltem pressed into that familiar slick tightness. Then an unfamiliar weight and warmth was against his back.

"Hold still for a bit," Springer rumbled as he pressed the tip of his spike against Saltem's valve entrance, teasing the platelets and himself.

The larger mech groaned in pleasure as his new lover began to sink into him. This dual sensation of being surrounded and filled left him trembling. It was unbelievably good, even before they started moving.

"Oh yeah," Springer groaned above him as he stilled, buried inside Saltem to the hilt, his spike housing rubbing against valve platelets before he began to draw back. "Slick, hot ... going to feel so good."

"Already does," Saltem gasped, pressing his hips forward into the lover below him, before moving back towards Springer as the triple changer moved towards him.

"It'll feel better," Fortis Bronte moaned as he squeezed his valve tight around that deliciously large spike inside him and cycled the calipers to add even more.

He was having a hard time imagining how it could be better as he moved between the mechs above and below him, valve instinctively squeezing around the spike thrusting in. This was a lot more complicated than just being with Fortis Bronte, but he couldn't deny it was worth it for the added pleasure.

Springer was the first to pick up the pace, his systems cycling faster and hotter than the grounders by design.

Saltem quickly matched his pace, moaning as pleasure-arousal spiked through his systems. It wound higher, faster than normal from the two sources. He buried his face in Fortis Bronte's neck, one hand reaching down to pull up the older mech's leg so that he could reach the sensors in his pede and ankle joint.

"Oh yeah, suck on him," Springer shuddered in anticipation of watching at the spike of arousal from Fortis Bronte. "I can feel how hot it makes him," he moaned and leaned forward, pressing as close against Saltem's back as he could manage as he drove his hips against the larger mech's.

Under Saltem Fortis Bronte was shaking in the mixture of anticipation, physical pleasure and the two fields merged with his.

Saltem nipped, licked, and sucked on the neck cables under his mouth as he moved between the two, starting to lose the rhythm as he was brought right up to the edge of overload. His field flared with the two it was merged with, sharing the pleasure of the first time being between two lovers. His fingers dug further into his older lover's pede, trying to get him as close as he was by playing on this newest and most intense of Fortis Bronte's hot spots.

The brown mech howled and arched, his entire frame responding to the intense sensory input. Heat pooled in his core, his vents wide open.

"Oh damn you two are hot," Springer groaned, thrusting faster.

"So are you two," Fortis Bronte trembled, his frame crackling with energy

Saltem was beyond words as they finally tipped him over the edge, crying out as overload took him. His valve clamped down on the spike in it and he buried himself in Fortis Bronte's valve, clutching mindlessly at whatever plating was under his hands. The ripple of the valve he was buried in drove him higher, as did the rush of hot transfluid inside him and the joining overloads from below and above him through his plating and field.

He found awareness as Springer groaned and flopped to his side next to them, though the green and black triple changer didn't seem up for much more.

"He'll recover fast," Fortis Bronte chuckled and nuzzled Saltem's face up for a kiss. "This is what interfacing is like, when you're open to it. Casual fun, pleasure shared."

Saltem eagerly kissed back, his field sharing with Fortis Bronte how much he had enjoyed it. "Is good," he rumbled, frame eager for more.

"Think the old mech can watch you two youngsters for round two?" Fortis Bronte rumbled, noting how Springer perked up at the idea.

"I bet your spike feels _really_ good," the triple changer leered openly. "So big and thick."

"It does," Fortis Bronte grinned at him.

"You'll have to find out," Saltem rumbled, moving over to kiss his new lover passionately. Large hands moved over green plating, searching for spots that would make the mech beneath him moan and arch.

Springer was eager to play, his hands just as exploratory. "Rotor array," he whispered in Saltem's audial. "Thickest sensor load on my frame."

The larger mech rumbled in acknowledgement, his hands seeking out the array to stroke and squeeze. He leaned his helm in, nipping at his lover's neck cables as one thigh rubbed between the other's legs.

A black hand dropped between them to slide along, then around Saltem's spike, still slick with Fortis Bronte's lubricant. "You feel as big as you looked," Springer quivered in anticipation as his valve cover slid open. "I like it _hard_ , big mech."

One hand slipped down to briefly test the valve for readiness. "You want hard?" Saltem rumbled teasingly and he moved Springer's hand away from his spike to pin it. "You'll get... _hard!_ " He thrust hard into the green mech's valve, his glossa mirroring the motion as he captured those lips in another kiss.

The triple changer grunted, but submitted with a heady rush of pleasure mixed with intense desire. His legs wrapped around Saltem's as his hips eagerly rose to meet each driving thrust.

The larger mech forcibly slowed their pace to tease them both, though he kept the power in each thrust. Pleasure crackled through his field as he sped up, unable to keep the slow tempo, and he growled against Springer's mouth. Under him the helo frame shuddered and arched, impossibly turned on by Saltem's aggression and strength. Energy jumped from one frame to the next and back, lighting up their neural networks.

Without any warning Springer's helm snapped back with a roar as his back arched, driving his hips against Saltem's. His valve clenched tightly, alight with loose electricity that crackled along Saltem's spike.

The larger mech groaned, but continued to drive into the mech below him, through Springer's overload and as the smaller mech sagged in its aftermath, only to moaned and begin to rock into the thrusts once more.

Saltem encouraged it, nipping at neck cables as one hand reached for the rotor assembly once more in an effort to drive up his lover's pleasure. It felt so good, to know that what he'd learned for Fortis Bronte worked on this stranger too. That pleasure didn't always require complete trust.

Despite the charge licking at his frame, Saltem thought that maybe he was beginning to see interfacing the way others did. At least some of it. He would have to try to expand his horizons more.

He growled in pleasure again, feeling himself get close as the charge crackled between them as he sped up, his rhythm becoming erratic. He roared as he finally went over the edge, hot fluid flooding the hot valve around him as he pumped frantically into it. Springer's roar rose to join his as they lost themselves in the pleasure, both their processors whiting out until well after their frames sagged, spent and sated.


	12. Facing Death

After several vorns, Saltem was no longer so dependent on Fortis Bronte for companionship. Springer had become a regular interface partner, as well as a couple other warriors that knew how to be discreet and respected the enslaved mech's desire for privacy. His only lament with his interface life was that they all seemed to want a rough, dominating interface. At least Fortis Bronte was willing to indulge him with interfaces that weren't quite so harsh from time to time.

And Fortis Bronte... Despite his expanding horizons, the older warrior was still his closest companion, the one he trusted completely and felt safe with. He still spent his recharge cycles in the older mecha's quarters, with or without a warm frame next to his.

Speaking of the mech... Saltem smirked as he rushed the unsuspecting warrior, tackling him into a conveniently open closet, hitting the controls on the way in so the door closed behind them. "Hello, lover," he purred lowly, thrusting his hips insistently against the other mech's.

"Hello, lover," he groaned as his field flared brightly with sudden arousal and anticipation. His valve cover slid open and he shifted to make the penetration easy for the bigger mech.

Saltem's hands were on his hips and thighs, easily holding the older mech in the perfect position as he thrust in, pausing a moment to relish being fully engulfed by his lover. It was a sensation they both relished, along with the oh-so-temporary sensation of a spike sliding along a barely lubricated valve when the recipient really wanted it.

Fortis Bronte shuddered and wrapped his arms around his lover's neck to pull himself in for a kiss.

Saltem returned the kiss, glossa thrusting into his lover's mouth as his hips began slow, but powerful movements. The larger mech enjoyed teasing them both, dominating in a way the older mech liked while going at a pace he himself preferred. He pulled one of his lover's legs over his hip, forcing a change in the angle of his lover's valve and allowing his spike to hit other sensor clusters in it.

Barely three thrusts in and Fortis Bronte was already so slick and hot it was impossible to tell he'd been surprised by his lover. His helm tipped back, both offering and pleading for attention to his throat cables. The absolute domination was a massive turn on, but so was the iron self control of his lover to keep the thrusts slow and deep.

It felt _so_ good.

The larger mech took the invitation, alternating nips alone the cables with strokes by his glossa, letting the appendage wiggle slightly between the cables in a way nothing else could quite match. He growled, the valve around his spike feeling so good, so _right_ , as he maintained his pace and felt the slow burn of pleasure filling them. The field woven so easily into his spoke of matching pleasure and desire, of enjoyment at being dominated and equal enjoyment at the slow burning buildup.

Fortis Bronte's hands gripped the strong shoulders as he gasped and rocked into each thrust, encouraging his lover to speed up without any expectation that he would. It was half the fun of this, to have no control while knowing he'd be taken care of.

Saltem growled again, ignoring the silent requests to speed up. Instead he moved his lover's other leg around his waist, supporting all of Fortis Bronte's weight as he maintained the same slow pace. Pleasure coiled tighter in their entwined fields, made all the stronger by the slow, measured build up.

The larger mech groaned and bit down on shoulder armor as that coil finally sprung. He managed to maintain his pace even as transfluid flooded the valve clenched down on him and electric fire ran through their fields.

Fortis Bronte cried out sharply at the wisp of pain mixed in with the intense pleasure of an overload triggered by a slow build and the rush of charged transfluid. He trembled through it, relishing the strength and endurance of his lover to continue pumping so steadily through the crest and slow descent from it.

Saltem finally slowed and stilled as the last of the charge ebbed away, and captured his lover's mouth in a tender kiss that was returned, sweet and long, as Fortis Bronte gradually slid his pedes to the floor. He nipped lightly at his lover's lips as the kiss broke, his spike slipping free and retracting back into his housing. Then he began to trail kisses and nips down the older mech's body, hands back on the other mech's hips.

He could feel it the moment his intentions registered with his lover. Fortis Bronte moaned as his frame stiffened, shivering in anticipation as his spike quickly pressurized between them. Saltem hummed as he gazed hungrily at the prize before him as he knelt. Then he leaned in and let his glossa swirl around the base of his lover's spike before nipping and licking his way towards the tip.

Strong brown hands caressed his helm and audial antennae, stroking and encouraging in a way Fortis Bronte hadn't dared the first few times. Now though he knew that Saltem wouldn't take it wrong, knew that _Saltem_ was in charge no matter what Fortis Bronte tried or cried out. That knowledge made the attention all the more potent.

The eagerness in the younger mech's field was another sign of how far he had come from the mech who had performed this because he was asked, not because he wanted to. Now the mouth that began to slowly engulf the spike was willing and Fortis Bronte roared as his hips were held still against his effort to thrust into that blissful mouth.

Saltem used every trick his lover had taught him to pleasure his spike, sending his lover's charger higher. He was a quick study when he put his processors to something, and getting all those delightful noises out of Fortis Bronte was well worth learning.

He could track the charge by so many clues, and they were all pointing to being mere nanokliks away when the base alarm began blaring.

" _All personnel to battle stations. This is not a drill. We are under attack._ " Prowl's voice commanded over the intercom and all internal comms.

Saltem snarled in annoyance as he pulled back off of his lover's spike. It was too late for Fortis Bronte to stop himself. The pleasure had already crested and with it a burst of hot, thick, sticky transfluid ejected right onto Saltem's face.

Saltem jerked slightly, surprised as his face was coated in two more bursts before the charge faded enough for his lover to shut it down and come to his senses enough to grasp what was happening with the sirens and spoken alarm.

"We need to go," Fortis Bronte said as he tried to organize himself enough to do so. His balance was still shaky and his systems dancing with extra energy that had nowhere to go.

"We do," Saltem nodded, quickly rising to his pedes. He wanted to clean off his face, but they didn't have the time. He wiped the worst off with a hand and followed his lover out of the closer, into the stream of mecha that looked chaotic but was actually a well-orchestrated and drilled response.

As front line warriors, they both joined the stream heading outside the base's protective walls and into the chaos of a battle. Their opponents were organics larger than they were and heavily armored. While they weren't advanced technologically, they were powerful enough that warriors like Fortis Bronte and Saltem were especially needed on the battlefield.

Saltem roared as they reached the field outside, immediately charging one of the blue-green organics. Next to him his lover was soon pede deep in organic goo.

"Hey Saltem, you like taking fluid to the face?" someone laughed nearby over the pounding of Cybertronian fists against heavy organic armor and the thuds of heavy organics using their mass against Cybertronians.

Saltem growled but otherwise ignored the jibe, instead working on pulling off the metal plates the organics had attached to their natural armor so he could do real damage. A strike to his helm dropped him to his knees, but did little damage to armor designed to survive some of the heaviest weapons Cybertron had developed.

"You look good on your knees," someone else taunted him. "You going to be there when the fighting's over?"

"Shut up!" the large mech snarled as he yanked the nearest organic down onto the ground and plunged his hand between armor plates to crush vital organs before pulling away to target the next opponent.

"But you're so _hot_ when you get wound up," the first one rumbled, throwing one organic into another. "And you've got no one to fill your valve, or that mouth."

"Keep your processor on the fight," Saltem replied as he took down another organic, pouring his building rage into their foes to keep from turning on those supposedly on his side.

"But it's what comes after the fight that we fight for," the second cheered as he leapt on top of an organic and used a sharp cable to decapitate it.

::Ignore them,:: Fortis Bronte's comm tried to sooth him despite the trouble the older warrior was in.

"You are _not_ touching me!" Saltem snarled louder at the mechs, rage building, starting to cloud his thoughts as he ripped through organic after organic.

Their laughs echoed in his audials as he focused on moving away from them and towards his lover, a mecha he knew he could trust. It didn't take long to catch sight of the brown warrior, now covered in sticky red organic fluids, they had gotten separated from the main force when those he'd been fighting with were taken down.

There was a large knot of organics converging around him, far more than most could handle at once. Saltem charged towards them with a roar, needing to rip and maim and send vital fluids spilling to the ground. Organics obliged him, getting in the way, attacking and stomping. Their mass was such that a body blow _hurt_ and dented armor, even on Saltem's massive frame.

He was only ten paces away when he saw Fortis Bronte knocked down and one of the organics rear up, long spikes visible on its forelimb pedes before it dropped its full mass on the old warrior, driving the spikes deep into his chassis and crushing the thick chest armor inward.

"No!" Saltem cried out, rushing towards that organic, to get it _away_ from Fortis Bronte. Springer and another helo dove in from above and the other side, laying waste to the organics in the area and covering Saltem when he reached Fortis Bronte's side. The old warrior was already graying, his fluids streaming out from shattered lines. It wasn't the physical damage that had done him in. The crushing to his chassis had broken his spark casing open.

::Medic!:: Springer was roaring over the comm. ::Critical injury!::

Saltem dropped to his knee next to his lover, grabbing his hand. "Fortis Bronte, no..." he whispered hoarsely. "Hang on, _please_."

A large black form landed next to him with a ground-shaking thud and Axe was there, hands working quickly before anger and sadness flared in the ancient's field. "Saltem," he demanded the warrior's attention as he stood. "He's gone. Fight on."

Saltem trembled, shaking his helm. Rage and guilt built in his processor. He should have been there, if he had seen the danger Fortis Bronte was in sooner, this wouldn't have happened. The large mech roared his anguish to the sky before throwing himself back in the fray, not caring as he tore through the ranks of organic warriors. He was completely oblivious to the fact that he was being subtly guarded from above by Springer, Axe or even Dai Atlas himself on occasion.

The rest of the battle passed in a blur, and he only halted when Dai Atlas sent out the order for all the warriors to stand down. Saltem stood still, helm lowered as he trembled. His armor had seen better orns, but the large warrior didn't notice the pain. He was still, lost as to what to do. While he felt a large airframe land next to him, it wasn't until Axe put a hand on his shoulder that he managed to start processing again.

"Come on. Let's clean up this mess and get some recharge," Axe said quietly.

"It was my fault," he whispered, as if he hadn't heard.

"Even if it was, this is a warrior's existence," Axe said gravely. "We extinguish young."

"It shouldn't have been _this_ battle, though," Saltem replied.

Axe shook his helm. "I know," he murmured, trying to urge Saltem to move. "It hurts. You can't let it break you."

Saltem reluctantly began to follow the SIC, but he was hollow, on autopilot. Nothing had changed, really. Yet everything had.


	13. Rebuilding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Hot Shot/Saltem/Springer

"You may go now," Prowl spoke the words that released his captive, though willing and determined, audience for the orn. The Praxian was unabashedly pleased with Saltem's efforts and ability once he fully dedicated himself to learning, though he regretted the reason for the dedication. He'd tried to reach out socially to the giant, but Saltem was hurting too much and Prowl too awkward for the effort to work. So Prowl taught him all he could and quietly allowed the potential friend to go to others more able to grasp how to connect with him.

"Thank you," Saltem murmured softly, putting his datapads away in his subspace pocket. He hesitated a moment next to Prowl before gently touching his shoulder, light there-and-gone. 

He slipped out of the room and headed for the washracks. He needed to get off the dust and dirt that always accumulated on organic worlds. It was one of the few parts of his current assignment that he did not enjoy. As late as Prowl always worked him, the washracks were predictably empty when he entered and turned on a showerhead.

He still preferred it when they were empty. He didn't need to listen to inane chatter or other noises, didn't have mechs leering at him uninvited.

It was quick, quiet work to get himself clean.

"Looks like you need a hand with your back," a deep rumbling voice came with the heavy pedefalls of a tank-alt mech.

Saltem glanced over to see who it was disturbing him. Demolishor. A heavy-hitter like Saltem himself and well on his way to making a senior Sergeant like Fortis Bronte had been. He hadn't been too bad to the enslaved mech, and Saltem almost accepted, but he really didn't appreciate those who had not been vetted touching him outside of sparring. "No, thank you," he replied politely, continuing with his cleaning.

He could feel the surprise at his refusal, reminded once more at how unusual his attitude towards touching was.

Demolishor hummed and moved to land on his shoulder against the wall, facing Saltem and watching him. "You know Springer doesn't have the rank to keep folks away for long. He's not much more than a rookie."

"Isn't why I spend time with him," Saltem replied casually. And something else unusual about how he approached interfacing.

"Don't tell me you've chosen _Prowl_?" Demolishor was just on the edge of incredulous. "That mech doesn't even know what interfacing is."

"I fail to see how what I do is any of your business," Saltem said lightly. A vorn ago, such line of questioning would have him already bristling. Now it just reflected off of him, almost as if he had become numb to it.

"Because I'm interested in you," the tank said bluntly. "You've mourned long enough for your last protector, even if you really liked him. You won't be left alone much longer."

"My relationship with Fortis Bronte was not based on protection," Saltem replied. "I have not needed that sort of protection while under Dai Atlas's command." The slightly taller mech turned off the solvent and moved over to the dryers to finish off.

"Oh really?" The leer became pronounced as Demolishor leaned into Saltem's personal space, their fields snapping and crackling against each other. "You can't be that ignorant of how the military works. Even a rookie has the right to take you, if they can."

Saltem forced down his disgust at the look and Demolishor's words. "I am not ignorant of how the military works. However, you seem to be ignorant about the orders Dai Atlas has in place regarding my rank." He stared back calmly.

Powerful hands were suddenly on Saltem's shoulders, pushing him against the wall face-first. "I think I'll have you. It's up to you how good you want it to be for yourself," Demolishor rumbled against Saltem's audial. "I can be a very good lover, if you make it worth my while."

Saltem didn't bother to reply to Demolishor as he fought to throw the heavier mech off of him. Instead he opened an urgent comm line to the General. ::Sir, I am being assaulted,:: he said in the same calm, almost emotionless voice he had been using since the loss of his first lover, including Demolishor's ident along with the transmission.

A moment later Demolishor stiffened, then actually flinched at the fury slamming into his comm. Between one intake and the next the tank mech was gone.

Saltem relaxed and let out a sigh. Hopefully it wouldn't take too long for mechs to remember that he had Dai Atlas' protection, and that wasn't based on interfacing.

He turned off the dryers and left the washracks. Hopefully Springer would be off-duty and willing to indulge him in some of his less warrior-like proclivities. The triple-changer was nearly as understanding of Saltem's odd interface preferences as Fortis Bronte had been.

* * *

A decaorn later, Saltem entered the mess hall, finished after a long orn. He had started off with Prowl's continued training in fighting, then moved to Prowl's lessons for him, and then finally ended with a session of cleaning and other chores that had been a part of his existence under Dai Atlas. He grabbed his allotted ration of energon and looked around. He quickly spotted Springer, with a bright yellow young warrior next to him. Saltem moved over, sitting at the table with them. 

"Springer," he greeted.

"Prowl finally let you go?" Springer grinned at his friend and occasional lover. "Have you met Hot Shot?" he nodded to the bright yellow and red mech that was much smaller and lighter than either of them. "He's fresh out of the factory."

Saltem chuckled at the jibe, and turned to the other. "Hello, Hot Shot," he greeted.

"Hey," the youngster grinned back. "Springer wasn't kidding when he said you were _big_."

That made Saltem smile and chuckle again. "And why would he lie about that?"

The rookie flustered, causing both older mecha to grin. "What's Prowl like?" he asked randomly.

"I warned you he's right off the line," Springer rolled his optics.

"Dedicated," Saltem replied, tone indulgent for how young Hot Shot was. "Prefers to be working, and has a low tolerance for nonsense. Not many mecha here like him, or are willing to try to understand him, but he's a good mech."

"You can include me in that category," Springer snorted. "The mech's a few protocols short of a full set if you ask me. No one who's right in the processor acts like that."

Hot Shot cast him a curious look.

"He doesn't think interfacing is painful 'cause he's never had a lover, he finds it _pointless_ ; a waste of energy," Springer grumbled. "It's seriously messed up."

"He's also not military, and has had experiences that have shaped his view of the world," Saltem replied. "It is not surprising that they do not match up with standard military views." He shrugged.

"You're seriously trying to tell me there are normal civvies who think like that?" Springer stared at him in disbelief.

"No, but normal civvies have not had the same experiences as him," Saltem replied evenly. "How many civvies join the military? That alone would indicate that he has not had a 'normal' life."

"True," Springer rustled his rotor-swords. "I still say he's missing a few protocols he'd enjoy existence more if he had."

"So don't touch the ADC if you want to live," Hot Shot extracted the important information from the conversation. "Kinda sad though, not to enjoy a good 'face."

"Don't touch, keep your processor on your work when on-duty, and don't violate the base rules," Saltem summed up. "And there are other ways to relax. They just don't burn off as much energy as interfacing," Saltem chuckled.

"There are?" Hot Shot looked at him dubiously, though willing to listen and learn.

::Rookies are so cute,:: Springer snickered across a private comm to Saltem.

"Reading, strategy games," Saltem replied. ::Agreed,:: amusement colored his tone over the comm. ::I doubt he'll be interested in other entertainments.::

::If that face says anything, nope,:: Springer had to muffle a physical bark of laughter.

"Those sound like work," Hot Shot grimaced.

::Though speaking of things he _does_ enjoy, I'm trying to teach the little glitch how to be a lover,:: Springer said with a touch of exasperation. ::Think you'd be willing to help out?::

"Not everyone enjoys them, but enough do," Saltem shrugged. ::So long as he can keep what happens with me to himself, I'd be willing.::

::If he can't, I'll beat the sense into him,:: Springer promised firmly. ::He's been good for a rookie so far when I tell him to keep something to himself.::

Saltem gave it a moment's thought, ::Sure.:: It was more risk than he had taken before... but he needed to learn to take those risks. This was a good way to learn, with a mech that was willing to try and a friend that would take the brunt of correcting the rookie if Hot Shot said something he shouldn't.

::Thanks. He's not kinky yet,:: Springer said as he finished his energon.

"Do you?" Hot Shot asked.

"Yes," Saltem replied. "They are also good when medics have restricted your activity levels after repairs, and are a good reminder of how to actually use processing power." Saltem gave a wry smile at the last part.

Hot Shot gave a grimace. "Okay, that would suck with nothing to do."

"Finish your energon," Springer gave Hot Shot a nudge. "You don't have to learn to read tonight."

The rookie gave him a glare but complied, knowing that meant tonight was going to be fun.

Saltem chuckled, finishing his own energon. Hot Shot really did have a lot to learn, but teaching him would be... fun. It was a sound and grin that Springer matched. The triple changer wasn't much for games or reading either, at least not like Fortis Bronte had been, but he was old enough to recognize their value during down time.

All three let Hot Shot lead the easy chatter about nothing as they walked to Springer's quarters, a space he shared with a mech designated Flashbomb, though it was, as usual, empty. Flashbomb liked to stay in his lover for the night's quarters rather than his own.

It was something Saltem appreciated greatly.

The large mech followed the two smaller ones into the room, and waited expectantly as Springer drew Hot Shot against him and into a kiss that the smaller mech returned eagerly.

"Tonight, you're going to be a _lover_ to Saltem," Springer rumbled hotly, as eager as any of them. "He likes smaller mecha."

"That's good," Hot Shot glanced at the convoy class with lust clouded soft blue optics that were far more round than most. "Not many bigger."

"One rule, though," Saltem rumbled. "No talking about what we do as interface partners with anyone not involved. I like my privacy." He reached out, one hand stroking down each back.

Hot Shot pressed into the touch, his field already alive and eager. "Got it. No talking about you," he nodded before Springer caught him in another kiss. Then the triple changer released him and stepped back.

"Let's see how much of what I taught you has stuck," Springer ordered the rookie.

Saltem grinned, lust coloring his field as he leaned in to kiss Hot Shot. He was interested to see just what the young warrior knew already, and what would need expanding on. The much smaller mech moaned and pressed into kiss. His hands moved to Saltem's chest, exploring the solid silver grill set in the black lower chest armor. They were a little clumsy, using more force than was best, but Saltem could feel that he was trying, that he wanted to turn the big mech on.

Saltem rumbled in reward to his efforts and deepened the kiss, his own hands wrapping around lightly to stroke the yellow mech's back. He could feel through their fields that Hot Shot wasn't one for patience, even if his designation didn't give that away. They'd barely begun to touch when Hot Shot tried to tug Saltem towards the berth.

Saltem chuckled and resisted the smaller mech's efforts. "Not so fast," he rumbled in his audio. "We have time to explore and play."

A soft whine escaped in response and Hot Shot's hands moved lower before Springer stepped into their space and caught them. 

"No touching there until he either asks for it or the panel slides open on its own," Springer said firmly, then let go and stepped back.

"Mmm, better to start looking for other hot spots," Saltem said, voice low with desire as he let his mouth drift down to nip and lick at his new lover's neck and shoulder. He let his hands roam and stroke in example, seeking out what would make the young mech gasp and squirm. It wasn't hard. Hot Shot was easy to wind up and eagerly pressed into every touch.

The rookie's own hands were far from idle, though far less successful. They stroked and pressed into gaps in armor to run along components, but the methodology seemed random. What spots were found brought out moans from the large mech.

"Focus," the larger mech murmured. "You want to do a thorough job, and make sure you can remember what gave you a good reaction."

Hot Shot shivered and nodded, his hands moving back to a spot on Saltem's arm where a wheel attached and worked his fingers along the rubber impregnated with sensors to help him navigate the terrain.

Saltem moaned against his new lover's neck, clutching him closer briefly.

A grin spread on Hot Shot's face as he found a wheel on the other arm and worked fingers deeper to the axle joint where wheel met frame and explored it. That gave him a louder moan and a rev of Saltem's engine as the large mech dropped to his knees. He kissed the smaller mech again, more demanding this time as his own hands stroked and wriggled into seams.

Despite the heat in his own frame and the way his knees wanted to give out, Hot Shot got a rush at feeling the power to draw such a reaction out of another. Things Springer had told and shown him started to click. He moved his hands to the set of wheels on the outside of Saltem's chest and dug his fingers to the axle on one while he squeezed and rubbed the tire of the other.

Saltem groaned and arched into the touches, his own faltering. The younger mech was learning quickly, already greatly improved compared to when they first touched.

Hot Shot's mouth found his neck and slid along the cables there, eager and burning hot. He pressed close, rubbing his already fully pressurized spike against Saltem's thigh and tried to tug the big mech towards the berth again.

The large mech allowed himself to be pulled, though he kept his interface hatches closed. He was determined to have the rookie _work_ for the first overload. For the moment Hot Shot seemed content with that victory, crawling onto the berth and on top of his lover. He quickly straddled Saltem's hips and reached forward, nearly laying on top of Saltem to reach those chest wheels again.

Saltem rumbled in pleasure, letting the vibrations from his engine roll through both of their frames. The position reminded him of Fortis Bronte, but the small warrior on top of him was nothing like his first lover. Still, he let his hands stroke down thighs and to the younger mech's lower legs and pedes, stroking and exploring there.

Hot Shot moaned and trembled in pleasure, his hips rubbing shamelessly against Saltem's abdominal plates as the charge began to crackle along Hot Shot's plating. His knees drew up, both to bring his pedes into easier reach and to lower his valve against the hot plating under him.

Saltem rocked his hips up against Hot Shot suggestively, continuing to stroke at his pedes. "What do you want?" he asked, his voice a lusty growl.

"Your spike," Hot Shot trembled, rubbing his valve against the heated panel under him. "Love a big spike stretching me wide and deep."

"Have you been with a lover my size before?" he asked, letting his cover open and his spike extend. Having someone so eager for him was intoxicating.

Hot Shot shivered at the sensation of such a large spike sliding out against his valve platelets. "Springer's as big as I've had."

"You'll want to go slow to start out, to make sure you don't hurt yourself," Saltem warned. "I am larger than him."

"A lot larger," Springer said from where he was watching, his optics bright but his focus on Hot Shot as the smaller mech shifted to sit up and wiggled back so he could see what was being talked about. His engine revved hard as he took in the thick, long shaft being offered, but despite his frame's hunger, his first action was to slide his hands along it, followed by his glossa.

The large mech gasped, hips rolling up into the touch and field flaring. It felt so good when a lover touched his spike.

"Maybe you should overload first," Hot Shot rumbled in question as much as an offer before swirling his glossa around the head of Saltem's spike while his hands closed around the shaft to stroke it. "If I have to take it slow ... I want you to last long enough to really _take_ me."

"Please," Saltem whimpered, hips rolling again. Oh, but Hot Shot was turning out to be a fast learner. He was barely aware of Springer kneeling on the berth behind Hot Shot and between his legs. The triple changer leaned against Hot Shot's back, whispering into his audial as he stroked the rookie's frame, encouraging him.

Not that Hot Shot needed encouragement. The red and yellow mech took the head into his mouth without hesitation and sucked. What he lacked in skill from only a handful of attempts he more than made up for in eagerness. His glossa swirled around the head, stroking along the slit where the transfluid would escape. All the while his hands rubbed up and down the long, thick shaft, trying his best to make it feel _good_.

Even without the refinement of technique that only experience would bring, the small warrior was _good_. He had natural talent that quickly left Saltem an incoherent puddle on the berth, moaning and whimpering in pleasure as his field flared. It wouldn't take long to drive him over the edge.

Springer whispered to Hot Shot and the rookie modulated his intakes and systems to vibrate through his mouth and hands, adding a deep, humming resonance to the effort. It was enough, and Saltem overloaded with a shout, energy crackling over his frame as he arched, driving his spike deeper into Hot Shot's mouth for the first burst of transfluid.

That the rookie swallowed easily enough, but the second burst was more difficult, and the third spilled from his mouth completely when he cried out in pleasure as Springer drove into his slick, needy valve.

When Saltem could focus once more, he saw Hot Shot half leaned over him, his hips raised, optics off and mouth open in pleasure. Beyond him Springer was driving into the rookie's valve deep and hard. His engine rumbled to life at the sight, arousal flaring in his field once more. "Look so good," he said, watching the pair eagerly.

"He's tight in the very best way," Springer moaned, his rotor-swords quivering in his arousal as each thrust bright him closer to the edge. "The way he overloads is so tight, so much charge when you fill him up."

Hot Shot whimpered at the compliments as much as he did the stimulation. He could never understand not wanting this as part of his existence. It felt _so_ good.

"I should try him then, when you're done," Saltem rumbled, enjoying the wild flare of anticipation from Hot Shot's field. "Never had a lover that wasn't already very experienced. He's probably tighter than I've ever felt."

"I don't doubt it," Springer groaned as his thrusts sped up. "Small rookie, always so tight and responsive." He shuddered and leaned forward to drive his hips against Hot Shot's, rolling them before pulling back to slam forward once more.

The yellow and red mech keened and arched as the pleasurable charge crashed through him, tightening his valve and pouring a heavy crackle of energy into the highly conductive lubricant. It was more than enough to make Springer bellow his own overload, flooding Hot Shot's valve with thick, highly charged transfluid.

Saltem pushed himself up with his arms to capture Springer's mouth in a kiss while the other came down from his high. He pulled Hot Shot closer, off of the green mech's spike. He quickly replaced it with his own spike, slowly spreading the still overload-lax valve. Against him Hot Shot gasped and trembled, his field flaring brightly with anticipation, intense pleasure and a hint of pain as Hot Shot was stretched farther than he was really designed to so soon.

Saltem paused at the first hint of pain through his lover's field, stroking the young mech's back as he allowed him to adjust. Behind Hot Shot Springer had recovered and helped support Hot Shot's hips with one hand and Saltem's spike with the other, slowly guiding Hot Shot to move up and down, gradually taking more and more of the thick spike into himself.

Saltem rumbled in pleasure. "So tight..." He stared at Hot Shot's face as he was slowly stretched further than he had ever been in his life. Absolute bliss was etched in every curve of the rounded features, even the hints of pain now and then didn't faze the young warrior in the least.

"So _big_ ," Hot Shot moaned in response. He gasped and panted, desperately trying to hold off the building pleasure until Saltem was all the way in and able to thrust. He wanted to feel that so badly, the slide of that incredible spike all the way to the rim and then all the way in until their hips ground together.

"You're going to be so full..." Saltem groaned. Even without being all the way in the young mech, the pleasure was intense. The squeeze of that tight valve was almost painful. The large mech leaned forward and captured Springer's mouth in another kiss, hot and desperate.

"You're going to ruin him for regular mecha," Springer grinned as the kiss ended and Hot Shot managed to get a full half of Saltem's spike inside him. "He's so delicious when he's this hot."

"Mmm, you've managed to enjoy other lovers," Saltem pointed out teasingly. "He feels so good," he moaned.

"I'm not addicted to _big_ ," Springer grinned. With enough of Saltem inside Hot Shot that Springer felt he could let go and move one hand to stroke Saltem's valve cover. Saltem groaned at the touch, valve cover snapping open. His hands moved to Hot Shot's hips, taking over controlling the small mech's slide onto his spike.

Thick fingers slid around Saltem's valve, then inside to test for readiness. It was already slick and automatically clenched down on his fingers, eager to be filled. The large mech moaned at his touch, spreading his thighs to let the green mech closer.

"You're so hot when you're ready," Springer growled as he shifted, pressing his spike into the eager valve until his hips ground against Saltem's and his chest pressed against Hot Shot's back. "So very hot, and slick."

Between them Hot Shot keened and shuddered, his frame barely able to contain the charge of being so thoroughly filled.

"Feel so good inside me," Saltem groaned, his hands feeling around Hot Shot's valve entrance, how stretched the small mech was. He wouldn't have thought a valve could stretch like that without tearing, but there was no hint of pain in Hot Shot anymore.

One more thrust, burying Saltem a full two thirds of his length into the rookie, and the tip pressed against the node cluster at the very top. It was the end of Hot Shot's will to hold out and he screamed, his frame arching and crackling brightly with a charge so high it blacked him out before the sound fully left his vocalizer.

He moaned at the charge that skittered over his spike, squeezing down on the one inside of him. "So good..."

Springer moaned in reply, his thrusts becoming harder and faster. He was close, very close, but he wanted to enjoy every nanoklik of this.

"Yes, please," Saltem wrapped a leg around the green mech, trying to pull him closer. A few moments later he groaned as overload overtook him a second time, tightening every muscle cable in his body. Springer fell over the edge with him, pumping hot, charged transfluid into Saltem's valve with a roar. He continued to thrust, each driving motion pumping more transfluid into the tight slickness encompassing him until he sagged forward, spent and purring in the afterglow.

Saltem was equally lax under the two mechs, venting heavily and pulling his lovers closer to cuddle. Both willingly slid off and out of him, content to be lax on Springer's too-small berth with each other.

"Glad you haven't forgotten how to have fun," Springer rumbled lazily.

Saltem hummed in response, his arm tightening briefly around Springer. He missed Fortis Bronte, greatly, but that was not what bothered him most about losing his first lover. "Why did you think I would?"

"You started to focus almost as much as Prowl on your duties and his lessons," Springer shrugged. "It's not healthy. Life's short and to be enjoyed while we have it."

"It was my fault, not going to let it happen again," Saltem replied simply, letting his hand idly stroke Springer's armor.

"Huh?" the triple changer lifted his helm slightly to look at Saltem. "What's your fault?"

"His death, at least the exact circumstances around it," Saltem replied softly. "He would have lived to fight and die in another battle had I not let my rage cloud my thinking. I will not allow my shortcomings to be the cause of another's death again."

Springer was even more confused for a moment, almost saying that Prowl wasn't dead, before he clicked with the reference. "You don't know that, not for sure. He may have survived, he may have gotten taken down. It's not good to focus on it too much."

"It still won't happen again," Saltem said more firmly, settling down.

"I hope so," Springer decided to let it drop as he settled into recharge.


	14. Ending Early

::Prowl, Saltem, come to my office,:: Dai Atlas' comm message was calm and brief, giving no hint of what it was about to the two mecha who had been working on small-army incursion tactics.

Saltem gave Prowl a curious look before standing up, having no idea what their commanding officer wanted. It wasn't normal for him to comm them in the middle of lessons. The twitch of Prowl's sensor wings spoke volumes of how unusual the Praxian found it as well. He said nothing as they quickly shut down the tactical table before walking to the General's office.

Both of them tensed at the set of Dai Atlas' wings as he motioned them in. "Axe and I must return to Cybertron. We are unlikely to return soon. Ultra Magus, you are fit to be a warrior, even if you have not finished training to become an officer. I have put the certifications through so that the General that will temporarily take over this unit can not abuse your status."

Saltem--Ultra Magnus stared at him in confusion, as if he hasn't understood a word the General had said. "What?"

"You are no longer a slave," Dai Atlas repeated firmly but gently, understanding just how strongly he was blindsiding his slaves. He saw the fear building in Prowl only from long familiarity with the Praxian's frame language. "Prowl, Titanium has agreed to finish your education. I trust him."

"Yes sir," Prowl struggled not to tremble in stress and relief. He wasn't ready to socialize without protection yet.

"But... I'm not ready," Ultra Magnus replied, beginning to tremble.

"You have been ready for vorns," Dai Atlas told him with his full authority. "I had hoped to finish your officer training, but there is no need for you to be a slave for the rest of it. You can control your temper and how to socialize well enough to get along."

"Not well enough!" Visions of his first lover's corpse flashed across his processor.

"Yes well enough," Dai Atlas challenged the assertion sharply. "Nothing stops the death of a loved one. We are military. Sparked to die. Either pull yourself together or tear your spark out. Wallowing in grief is not our way."

"I can't do all the socializing that's expected," Ultra Magnus replied.

Dai Atlas considered his subordinate evenly, critically. "Do you genuinely believe another century under my command will change that? You have not made progress on that front since you were sparked."

Ultra Magnus remained silent. He couldn't think of anything that could move him on that stance, no matter how abnormal for a military mech it was.

He still didn't feel he was ready.

"You are as ready as I can make you," Dai Atlas said far more gently. "If things become unbearable, ask for a transfer to Titanium's unit. He'll take you in, demand your transfer. If you ask him, he'll make it happen. Understood?"

Ultra Magnus nodded, his gaze dropping down. "Yes, sir."

"Good. General Shockdrop will be arriving within the decaorn. Axe and I leave on that ship." His focus shifted to Prowl. "Titanium should meet up with us within three decaorn. Until then, you are still my ADC."

"Yes sir," Prowl inclined his helm. He was still trying not to shake. He was just beginning to feel like he was really making progress. He'd ... maybe ... begun to make a friend in Saltem. Something he'd reached out for, even after being rebuffed.

"Then you are dismissed," the General told them, watching as the pair left and not allowing his wings to sag dejectedly until the door closed.

He hated leaving a job undone. But this, he simply had to.

* * *

Ultra Magnus was settled in his quarters with a datapad for reading, avoiding the outside world for the moment. It had only been two decaorn since Dai Atlas had released him, and another decaorn since the General had left for Cybertron. During that time he had spent much with Prowl, continuing the lessons for both even though it was no longer required of them. It was a comforting familiarity that they both needed. The rest of his free time was spent with his few lovers in the group, or in his quarters.

While mechs no longer could use his rank as a slave as an excuse to try to have their way with him, he no longer had the protection of the highest rank mech in the group to stop them when they tried to simply overpower him. He was leery of putting himself in a position where he'd be forced to defend himself. Even though he was reasonably sure that both Springer and Prowl had quietly claimed him, offering some protection, it was unreliable at best.

Their new General was a very large mech, a black tank-former that preferred quiet violence and saw the world in a cold, logical way that was an instant draw for Prowl. It was an odd combination, but Ultra Magnus had watched the Praxian flourish in the few orns since their new leader had arrived.

A pounding, half-panicked knocking relented in a command override that opened the door to Ultra Magnus' quarters before the big mech could even get up. Prowl nearly fell inside, emotions truly showing for the first time in Ultra Magnus' memory.

That emotion was fear-laced horror. Something strong enough to drive Prowl to actually seek out the one mecha he thought of as a friend.

"What is it?" Ultra Magnus asked instantly, quickly rising to pull the smaller mech close in response to his obvious distress. He was quickly moved from the doorway, allowing the door to close behind him and give them some privacy. Prowl trembled against him, his field flaring wildly with the distress and his efforts to control it.

"The Generals ... they've been labeled traitors. Gone AWOL. Fired on the _Prime_." Prowl struggled not to keen as he pressed into the offered comfort.

"What?" Ultra Magnus asked, stunned. That... made no sense. How could that have happened? He held Prowl close, almost painfully so. "That can't be right. Are you sure that's what happened?"

"It's the official report, in the orders that gave Shockdrop permanent command of the unit," Prowl trembled, not complaining in the least at being all but enveloped by the relative giant. "Truth, I don't believe, but it's the political truth. The official truth. You know they were acting, talking wrong in those last orns. They _knew_ something was going to happen."

"It's why they had that meeting with us," Ultra Magnus replied. They had known they wouldn't be able to protect the two of them, and wanted to prepare Prowl and himself for it. He knelt down so he could rest his helm against Prowl's as he continued to hold him close.

"Yes," Prowl shivered but began to relax, his emotional reserves spent and settling him into the numb neutrality he was far more used to. Except that he still welcomed the touch and field surrounding him. He'd delivered his news, shared his shock and disbelief with another who understood, and now it was time to begin adapting to the new reality they were facing. Or perhaps tomorrow. It felt good to be held.

Ultra Magnus began to rumble softly, soothingly, as he held Prowl close. One hand rubbed the smaller mech's lower back, the motion as much to soothe himself as to provide comfort.

"Do ... you expect company tonight?" Prowl asked, pressing lightly into the contact. Though it surprised him, he didn't care at the moment. Like being held, it felt good, and he was craving that sensation for the moment.

"Nothing planned," he replied, continuing the motion.

"May I stay?" Prowl shivered faintly as a tendril of pleasure wound its way to his processors.

"Of course." Ultra Magnus hesitated a moment, then carefully covered Prowl's mouth with his own, kissing him gently. He moaned softly as the smaller mech returned the pressure, allowing the kiss to deepen as they continued to offer comfort to one another.

**Author's Note:**

> Fandom: Transformers G1  
> Author: gatekat, flybystardancer  
> Pairing: Axe/Dai Atlas, Ultra Magnus/Fortis Bronte  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Codes: Historical, Slavery, Sticky, Violence, Torture, Death  
> Summary: Ultra Magnus (based on RiD) has the protection of Nova Prime to avoid deactivation for his insubordination, but what he faces is the ultimate breaker of mecha in the army: General Dai Atlas.  
> Disclaimer: The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page <http://www.gatekat-fics.livejournal.com/290.html>. We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read.  
> Notes: RiD Ultra Magnus <http://transformers.wikia.com/wiki/Ultra_Magnus_%28RID%29>  
> <http://cybph.multiply.com/reviews/item/27>  
> nanoklik = 1/8 second;  
> klik = 496 nanokliks/62 seconds;  
> breem = 8 kliks/8.27 minutes;  
> groon = 9 breem/1.24 hours;  
> joor = 6 groon/7.44 hours;  
> orn = 42 joor/13.02 days;  
> decaorn = 32 orns/1.14 years;  
> metacycle = 8 decaorn/9.22 years;  
> vorn = 9 metacycles/72 decaorn/83 years;  
> ::text:: comm chatter  
> ~text~ hardline/bond chatter

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Full Circle](https://archiveofourown.org/works/598418) by [Cyberra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyberra/pseuds/Cyberra)




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